


Mine

by IdrilsSecret



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 101,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrilsSecret/pseuds/IdrilsSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to The Hunting Trip; Erestor and Glorfindel explore their feelings for each other, while pushing their newfound relationship to the limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was good to be back home, doing what he was familiar with, Erestor thought as he entered Imladris’ library. He breathed deep, inhaling the essence of every book. The scent of sandalwood wafted past him and he smiled. Lastar, his assistant, had arrived early, and lit Lord Elrond’s favorite incense. Such an enlightened and dependable ellon, Erestor thought quickly, and then turned to a window. A beam of sunlight illuminated the dust particles that flew through the crisp morning air. Everything was as it should be. Yes, familiarity was bliss.

Erestor had recently returned from an unexpected journey with Glorfindel, a hunting trip. He had left Rivendell as nothing more than a trusted counselor for Lord Elrond, and guardian of his most prized collection of books, but he returned home as Glorfindel’s companion and lover added to his titles. Erestor was still adjusting to these newfound feelings for the golden warrior, and told Glorfindel that he was not ready to announce anything just yet.

“Just for a while, let it be between us,” Erestor proposed the night before, after making love to Glorfindel. He had learned quickly that the best time to make Fin do as he asked was when he was devoid of his usual arrogance and need for control, and Erestor had just finished luring him into that sated and euphoric state.

“Only because I love you, Erestor,” Glorfindel answered with a languid whisper, “but it may not take them long to figure out what has become of us.”

“I didn’t say forever,” Erestor said as he nipped at Glorfindel’s nipple, “Only until I get my business in order. I left so suddenly, though with Lord Elrond’s permission, but I’m sure things have been accumulating while we have been away. Let me straighten them out first so that my mind will not be overwhelmed by all that has happened.” Erestor’s dark hair brushed over Glorfindel’s chest as he moved to give attention to the other nipple.

Glorfindel pushed his lover away, abruptly, taking Erestor by surprise and roughly grabbing his chin, “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” The words were spoken with a bitter edge.

“Of course not,” Erestor said, his own anger resonating in his answer.

Glorfindel’s blue eyes softened, and he gently pulled Erestor’s head back to rest on his chest, “I’m sorry. It’s only that … I love you deeply, and I want everyone to know what you mean to me. It has been a very long time since I’ve felt this way, maybe never, and definitely not with such longing and desire.”

Glorfindel sat up in his bed, and Erestor followed. They looked fixedly into each other’s eyes. What could Erestor say to such an admission … that he never could have imagined winning the heart of someone of such legendary notoriety … that it was like gaining the admiration of an untouchable god-like being … that it was sometimes overwhelming to think of it and accept it without worry of it all ending?

“You have my love,” Erestor answered. That was all he could say for now, and it had been enough, as Glorfindel proceeded to rouse him and return the favor.

* * *

Erestor stood in one of the many aisles of Imladrias’ extensive library, filing books that had not been put back in their proper place. There had been so much to do. Who would have ever thought that leaving for a few weeks would result in so much excess? It left him little time to spend with Glorfindel, and he was beginning to feel the emptiness.

And where was Glorfindel anyways? Since they talked the other night, Erestor had dined with him once, but not alone. They had shared the company with some of Glorfindel’s acquaintances, warriors with zealous stories of war and the brawn to match. Erestor felt out of place amongst them. He had fought in a war during his youth, and understood their battle terms, but these ellyn had made a career of it, while Erestor settled for a much quieter and safer life.

Glorfindel was in his element as he spoke sentimentally of the Twelve Houses of Gondolin, and of his own home in which he had been chief, the House of the Golden Flower. Erestor had heard all the tales before, most of them through stories passed down from one generation to the next, but there was something very powerful about hearing them first hand from the elf lord himself. Erestor beamed with pride for his lover.

As Glorfindel told tales of wars long passed, he would cast Erestor a hungry stare while the others were not looking. Erestor answered him with narrowed eyes of warning, not to make a scene and raise suspicions. Glorfindel would just smile though. This was his game, and Erestor had no choice but to play along.

Unfortunately, the night ended when a messenger approached Glorfindel, his attendance urgently needed to resolve some kind of problem. He gave his guests his most sincere apologies and bade them all a good evening, but his eyes lingered on Erestor longer than normal. The counselor knew that look well, knew the predatory meaning behind it, and felt his body react at the promise that it brought of a satisfying yet exhausting evening.

That had been the last time Erestor saw Glorfindel, and it was two nights ago. He was nowhere to be found in Imladris, not in his usual spots anyways. Erestor could not start asking of his whereabouts, for fear of others wondering why he was inquiring. ‘Oh, no reason … it’s just that we have recently become lovers and I am in need of his cock,’ said the impish voice inside his head. Erestor laughed at the thought of saying that aloud. It would feel good to tell all of Rivendell that Glorfindel was his.

He stopped to think about that for a moment. Was Glorfindel really his, or was he just a plaything to the gilded legend. It was not unusual for Glorfindel to disappear without word. Though he called Rivendell his home, he never stayed there for long intervals. Glorfindel was a wanderer. He did not stay in one place for long, though he always came back. With his sudden disappearance, maybe Erestor misjudged their relationship. Perhaps Fin had a lover in each of the places that he visited. Maybe Erestor was only his Imladris lover. Where else did the warrior wander? Whom did he keep in these other far off lands?

That was not part of the bargain, Erestor thought to himself, and he began to anger. When he allowed Glorfindel into his life, it was not to become another knot on his gilded rope. Erestor had been searching for years, looking for the one who would complete his world, who would take him for who he was, and not try to make him something he could not be. He definitely could not be put on a shelf like a trophy waiting for his conquering hero to come back and give him a good polishing, only to be forgotten about until he began to tarnish again.

Maybe it was not that at all, he thought as anger turned to worry and abandonment, Erestor’s biggest fear. What if Glorfindel had a change of heart? What if he decided the counselor was not a worthy prize? Seeing Fin with his friends, all of them cut from the same robust cloth, had Glorfindel decided that he needed something more than a glorified librarian. He was a warrior, always had been. Could he want someone who exemplified those same qualities? Erestor was no pushover. He had been a soldier once and had kept up his physique as best he could, but he was nowhere close to being like those warriors at the dinner table. Perhaps Glorfindel needed someone like that then. They hadn’t slept together that many times. In fact, Erestor could still count on one hand . . . Well, maybe a few fingers of his other hand too. Still, it was enough times that Glorfindel would have decided whether or not it was what he needed from an ellon. He suddenly thought that being a trophy wasn’t so bad, compared to complete erasure. At least a trophy held some value.

Then Erestor recalled all of the loving words Fin had said to him the last time they had made love. Glorfindel might be a philanderer —Erestor prayed that he was not— but he would not say things that he did not mean. Fin was always careful with his words, and the ones he’d chosen the other night were from his heart.

Erestor realized that he was being an insecure fool. There was no use torturing his mind with all of these ‘what if’s’. He had to trust that Glorfindel would be back soon, and with a legitimate reason for leaving without word. However, when he did finally show, Erestor would definitely give him a piece of his mind. No time to dwell on that now though, there was work to do.

The library was quiet today for a change, allowing Erestor to catch up on everything that needed his attention. Placing the last book in its place, he wandered down the aisle, daydreaming about his lover, and what he would do to Glorfindel upon his return. First, he would reprimand him for leaving and giving no word. Erestor did not need to know where Fin was every minute of the day, but leaving for days at a time without so much as a goodbye was intolerable. He was feeling quite perturbed with the situation after spending the day thinking about it. Then he smiled to himself, as he thought of how he could use this to his advantage. Surely, he could come up with a punishment that fit the injustice done to him, something that they could both be satisfied with. The anger that had been festering for most of the day gave way to salacious imaginings, “That one would do quite well,” he murmured to himself, “but would the other even be physically possible?”

Thinking about Glorfindel, he had absentmindedly walked through the library, and found himself standing in a rather scandalous area. At the end of this particular aisle, was a shelf that held a small number of erogenous books. There were seven in all, bound in red leather, and perfectly lined up on their shelf. Each one was filled with erotic illustrations and instructions of how to achieve each sexual position. Years ago, when he discovered the book’s existence, Erestor would secretly visit this section of the library, waiting until everyone was gone for the day. During their recent hunting trip, Glorfindel had admitted to catching him here once, and had secretly watched him study. Erestor had been embarrassed when Glorfindel told him this, but now it seemed to reassure his mixed feelings. Fin had noticed him all those years ago, and he was still interested. Erestor wished he were here now, as he felt something carnal begin to stir. He reached to touch one of the books, but stopped.

“Damn him,” he muttered quietly, bringing his hand back. Erestor needed flesh, not parchment. Where was he? He stood straight, shoulders squared, and he huffed, “Damn his disappearance when I need him—”

“Counselor,” someone said from behind, and Erestor jumped and spun around to find Lastar.

Erestor felt the rush of heat crawling up his neck, readying to spread to his face, but he quelled it with anger over Glorfindel’s vanishing act. Instead, he forced a smile, and ignored the books posed in the background, “Yes, Lastar, do you need something?”

Lastar was a young elf, born only in the Third Age. He was quite beautiful, but so were most of the Noldor. He had a lovely head of sleek black hair, braided loosely at the sides. His hair was in stark contrast to his light ivory skin, smooth and flawless as it was the day he was born. His eyes were a deep indigo, sometimes violet in the right lighting. Pale pink, generous lips smiled at Erestor, who was still a bit choleric as he waved thoughts of Fin away with the distraction.

“Actually, I was hoping to find you here,” Lastar whispered.

Erestor turned his eyes to the side, gesturing to the books behind him, “Here? Oh … yes … well, I was just … uh—”

Lastar took a step closer to Erestor, “I hope you don’t mind, but you are much wiser, and have much more experience. I was wondering if you could help me with something of a … personal issue.”

“Me?” Erestor said surprised.

Lastar smiled shyly and nodded.

“Does it have anything to do with the content of these red books?” Erestor asked reluctantly.

Lastar’s cheeks blushed pink, perfectly matching the color of his lips. He looked down and away, his long lashes waving seductively.

Erestor was becoming slightly suspicious of Lastar’s inquiry, “I … uh … I can’t say that anyone has ever thought to come to me for … well … matters of the heart, is it?”

Lastar looked up through those long dark lashes, capturing Erestor’s hazel eyes, and gave a slow and determined nod, “I know that you have been chief counselor for a very long time, and that you know each and every book in Lord Elrond’s library. Some, I am hoping, you know more than others?” The last sentence was meant as a question.

Erestor was flattered, a bit embarrassed, but truly flattered that Lastar came to him for advice, “Maybe if you tell me what kind of guidance you are looking for, I can be of some help.”

“Well, you see counselor, there is someone I have known for some time now, someone I secretly long for, but I am not sure how to approach him on the matter. I am not sure of his feelings for me. I do not even know if he has feelings towards … ellyn,” Lastar informed.

“Ah, I see. Well, what you might want to consider—” Erestor started to speak, but Lastar closed the distance until he was standing very close, eyes still turned down and watching Erestor rub his hands together nervously.

Lastar covered Erestor’s hands with his, stopping the restlessness, “You see, I have given it a lot of thought, and maybe if I touched him … like this … it would not seem too forward.”

Erestor had no more doubts. He was the object of Lastar’s affections. Aye, he thought, how do I get out of this one?

“Hmm, yes, perhaps just a hand rested on his forearm would be enough to gain his attention,” he said nervously.

“Like this?” Lastar asked, moving his hand up Erestor’s arm, his fingertips grazing along the warm flesh. Then the hand wrapped around his arm and squeezed.

Erestor nodded, “Yes, that is very nice … I mean, it is very good … uh … you seem to know what you are doing. Why ask me for advice?”

The Noldorin youth was quite alluring, and maybe the counselor would have considered him, had Lastar approached him a few months earlier before Glorfindel . . . Where was that arrogant ellon anyways?

“I just wanted your opinion, counselor,” Lastar said softly, as his free hand found its way to Erestor’s waist.

Erestor jumped at the touch, and Lastar laughed, “Is it too much?”

“Maybe a bit, since you do not know his intentions toward you. You don’t want to rush to any conclusions and frighten him off,” Erestor moved away from the young ellon, but found his back pushed up against the bookshelf, the red leather books looming behind his head.

“You are not frightened, are you … Erestor?” Upon finishing the question, Lastar cornered the librarian. His hand came up between them, resting on Erestor’s chest, “You see … it is you that—”

“Counselor?” another voice interrupted. This time Erestor knew who it was, and he released the breath he had been holding. 

Lastar, startled, jumped away from Erestor, bringing his hand safely back to his side as he turned to see who the intruder was. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him, “Lord Glorfindel! It is an honor.”

Glorfindel stepped forward, his eyes scanning Lastar peculiarly, “I see we have not been properly introduced before. And you are?”

“Lastar, my lord, I work here in the libraries with the counselor. I was just . . .” he paused and stole a glance at Erestor, “seeking some advice.”

Glorfindel kept himself in check so that nothing seemed out of place, but Erestor could see rage burning deep within the blue of his eyes, “Yes, well . . .” he finally turned to look at Erestor, “I have been summoned to find the counselor, and ask that he join me to discuss some official business. I’m afraid it cannot wait.” Those eyes could have killed Erestor, should they have produced daggers just then.

Erestor was not intimidated though. He had his own form of defense in the way of questioning Glorfindel’s whereabouts for the past several days, “Very well, wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, least of all a balrog slayer.”

“Wise choice,” Glorfindel answered. He peeled his glare away from Erestor long enough to regard Lastar once more, “Very nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure was mine, Lord Glorfindel,” Lastar returned the pleasantry. 

Erestor gave Lastar a friendly smile and a nod of his head, and then walked alongside Glorfindel to some place private where they could speak freely. Erestor could feel the tension in the air between them. The sooner they got to their destination, the sooner they could hash out their differences.

Glorfindel led him to the Hall of Fire, which was unoccupied for the moment. They walked along the marbled floor, past the two grand tables lined with chairs, past the elvish statutes bearing the likeness of well renowned Eldar. Their footsteps echoed in the large hall with its high ceilings and arches. Neither one spoke a word until they came to the end of the hall, where an enormous hearth stood. There was always a fire burning within its elaborate mouth.

Erestor stopped and stood next to Glorfindel as they watched the flames jump and crackle. He wanted to be the first to speak, thinking that his concern for Fin’s disappearance was much more important than whatever the warrior had to say. Erestor took a deep breath, calming himself, and opened his mouth to speak, but Glorfindel stopped him by grabbing his arm, and pulling the counselor to his chest. The warrior’s strong hands framed Erestor’s face, and then his mouth crushed against the librarian’s. The kiss was full of desperate need after such a long time without. Glorfindel forced his tongue past Erestor’s lips, and tasted sweet bliss.

Erestor’s body reacted quickly, hardening and warming. The fire was not helping matters just now. His vexation was left forgotten as his senses swirled. Glorfindel’s mouth was demanding and warm. His long sweeping blond hair felt luxuriously soft where it brushed against Erestor’s neck. Fin smelled of pine and leather, of dirt and dust from travel, a clean sharp scent of an herb, and an intoxicating musk that was recognizably his desire. All of these aromas combined made him quite irresistible. Erestor would have let Glorfindel take him right there, on the cold marble floor—and damn anyone who might have walked in on them—if it weren’t for the niggling in the back of his mind. Just where had Glorfindel gone, and why hadn’t he told Erestor he was leaving?

Erestor found the will to resist Glorfindel’s ministrations, and pushed him away. Both elves were breathing heavily, making their blood rush through their veins at an accelerated speed. Finally, Erestor found his voice, “And just where have you been?”

“I was called upon by Lord Elrond to carry out an important errand.”

Erestor crossed is arms in a defensive stance, the slits of his eyes regarding Glorfindel accusingly, “And you could not have at least told me you were leaving?”

“No.”

Stubborn ellon, Erestor thought as his blood began to boil from these short answers, “You have been gone for a week. Did you not think I would worry?”

“I thought you might have inquired about me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” retorted Erestor, about to tell him the reason why, but Glorfindel interrupted.

“Aye, I saw for myself just how worried you were.”

Erestor looked into Glorfindel’s eyes, seemingly turned to a stormy grey in the hall’s dim lighting, “What you saw was not what you thought.”

“What I saw was a beautiful, young, and desirous ellon with his hands upon you, and you were not resisting,” Glorfindel said, then he waited for Erestor’s response.

Erestor wished he could crawl into the hearth, and let the flames end his embarrassment. It was true, that was exactly the scene that Glorfindel walked in on, but nothing would have happened, “I had no idea Lastar held any sort of admiration for me, and I was about to set things straight when—”

Glorfindel took a step towards Erestor and glared, “Perhaps he would not have made advances upon you, had he already known that you belonged to me, but I allowed you to talk me into keep our little secret. Is this the reason why?”

Erestor felt that blood would shoot from his eyes, “How dare you suggest such a thing! And how clever of you to make this all about me. You seduce me with your words and your body, and then you leave without so much as a word, not even a note. Do you know how many scenarios have played out in my mind? I thought you were gone again, used me for your enjoyment, and then left Imladris to wander about.”

“Wander? Left you?” Glorfindel said confused, but Erestor poked him in the chest with his slender finger.

“You never stay in one place, Fin. You never have. How long has Rivendell been your home? I’ve lived here all my long life, and saw you so few times that I could give you exact dates of each time you arrived. Now you tell me you love me, and want to be with me, and in an instant you are ready to stay put?”

“I would not have told you I loved you if I hadn’t meant it.”

“And I should not have to wonder if it’s true when you leave me without saying goodbye,” Erestor’s voice turned to a whisper.

“I should not have to question your love for me by seeing you in the arms of another.” Glorfindel’s hand grazed Erestor’s waist and came to rest at the small of his back.

“I told you, I have no interest in Lastar, and I didn’t know of his longing until the same moment you came. Fin, I do love you. I may not tell you as poetically as you tell me, but I do … almost until it hurts,” Erestor admitted.

Glorfindel twisted one of Erestor’s black braids between his fingers, the back of his hand caressing the other’s cheek. The corner of Fin’s mouth curled into a half smile, and an eyebrow rose, “Almost?”

“Well, this past week has been nothing short of torture, and I must be adamant about this. Do … not … ever … leave without telling me again,” Erestor’s warm breath caressed Glorfindel’s face as he spoke. Their lips were only a hair’s width away from touching.

Suddenly, there were voices at the far end of the hall, many voices. A meeting had been called. Erestor started to back away from Glorfindel, but the warrior’s hand held him still. Erestor looked at the group of elves entering the hall, and then back to Glorfindel with panic, “What are you doing? They will see us.”

“I know,” answered Glorfindel with an arrogant edge.

“You knew they were coming?” Erestor interrogated him.

“Yes.”

“You knew about this meeting, didn’t you?”

Glorfindel laughed, “Yes.”

Back to one-word answers, Erestor thought, “You’re supposed to be at this meeting.”

“Yes, and so are you. That is why I came for you at the library,” Glorfindel winked, “and I was anxious to see you again.”

Erestor’s gaze fell to his chest, “And you found me in a … compromised position. I am sorry, Glorfindel, but you must believe me when I say—”

“It’s alright, I believe you,” Glorfindel answered without letting Erestor finish. With his free hand, he took the counselor’s chin and lifted it. He didn’t speak or let him go, but just gazed hungrily into Erestor’s hazel eyes.

“You’re not going to release me are you?” Erestor said feeling defeated.

Glorfindel glanced sideways to the group of elves, and watched until Lord Elrond entered. Everyone was accounted for. Then he looked back at Erestor, “I’m going to kiss you now, in front of all your peers, and I don’t give damn what you want.”

Erestor could hear the light chatter begin to cease as the other elves witnessed the display of affection in front of the hearth. There was no more hiding, but there seemed to be no reason any more. Glorfindel did indeed love him. The doubts subsided, replaced with assuredness. Erestor brought his hands to Glorfindel’s waist and the two stood in an embrace. The counselor smiled, “If you’re going to kiss me while everyone watches, then make it count.”

Glorfindel laughed, “Oh, how I do love you, Erestor.” He kissed the blacked haired ellon then, with all his love poured into it. Erestor responded equally. They forgot about their audience, and let the spontaneity of the moment whisk them away to another world.

Someone whistled and another called out, “Is this what has become of Imladris?”

Surprised by the whistle and the voice, Erestor broke the kiss, and looked out towards the group of ellyn. He knew that voice and hadn’t heard it in a very long time, “Elrohir?” he called out.

The crowd separated as two identical elves walked down the center of the hall, the Imladris twins, Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Lord Elrond. They were difficult to tell apart at times, but Erestor knew. Both had the classic long black hair and fair skin of the Noldor, tall, handsome, and mischievous. They were fierce deadly warriors, and together they were unstoppable. They kept the lands of Rivendell safe from orcs and other enemies. Elrohir and Elladan spent most of their time out on patrol, living off the lands, and they always came back with new tales of their adventures. Erestor had been their friend for a very long time, and always looked forward to their visits.

Erestor smiled, but he did not release his arm from Glorfindel’s waist, “Elladan, Elrohir, you are back!”

Seeing that they needed this moment for each other, Glorfindel pulled away from Erestor, which did not go unnoticed by the counselor. He instantly missed the feel of his touch, but only for a moment as the twins embraced their friend.

“Erestor,” Elrohir sang, “It has been far too long.”

“We’ve missed you,” Elladan chimed in, “And all of your useless information.”

“I bet you have, you rascals. This is quite unexpected,” Erestor glanced over his shoulder. Glorfindel was gone, but not far. He was joining the others who came for the meeting.

Elrohir nodded with a gesture towards Glorfindel, “So, what it this?”

“What?” Erestor said mockingly.

Elladan reached out and straightened the collar of Erestor’s tunic, which had become rumpled from the embrace with Glorfindel, “He means, what did we just witnessed when we came in, the kiss … Glorfindel … in front of all these elves. Who are you and what have you done with Erestor,” he jested.

Erestor turned scarlet, “What does it look like?”

Elrohir put his hand on Erestor’s shoulder, “We will not harass you, but we have never known you to be affectionate in front of a crowd, least of all with an ellon, and surprisingly with Glorfindel. When did this happen?”

“Only within the past few months. It’s still new. He’s quite boisterous and arrogant. I like quietness and order. We disagree more than we agree. It will probably never work,” he said bluntly, as if it were no more than a fling. The twins would jostle him if he told them his true feelings for Glorfindel.

“Sounds like you were made for each other,” Elrohir said and patted his friends shoulder firmly.

That wasn’t so painful, Erestor thought. Sometimes the twins could be relentless. Time to quickly change the subject, “So, I hadn’t expected to see either of you for a while.”

“We weren’t expecting to come back yet,” answered Elrohir.

“We were on the trail of a group of orcs, and might have caught up to them if Estel hadn’t stopped us,” Elladan said, finishing for his twin brother.

Erestor looked surprised, “Estel is here, in Imladris? Does your father know?”

“Yes,” Elladan answered, “and he is none too happy, but tolerant.”

Erestor glanced past the twins. He did not see Estel within the group, though he did see many members of Elrond’s House, as well as Lastar. He wondered if his apprentice witnessed the kiss. Surely that would put an end to any misgivings.

Erestor drew his brows together, and brought his attention back to his friends, “Estel is not here for this meeting?” Estel was the adopted son of Lord Elrond. He was a human, a Numenorean, blessed with long life. He was also very much in love with Elrond’s daughter, Arwen, and the Lord of Imladris was not pleased with this predicament.

Elrohir nodded, “Today’s meeting is for Father’s closest advisors and chiefs, as well as the heads of staff. Estel is not needed until the gathering.”

“Gathering? Gathering of what?”

Elrohir nodded, “Father calls for a council in which all races will be represented.”

Elladan stepped forward, “Men, Dwarves and Elves, all shall congregate here in a month’s time. Erestor, something has been found, a weapon of the enemy. It is here, kept secret for now until the others arrive. This is the reason we are all here now. We shall say no more, but we thought you should know before the meeting gets underway.”

“Yes, thank you for telling me,” Erestor answered. Forgetting about the twins, he looked back towards the entrance where everyone gathered. Glorfindel was standing next to Elrond, but he was watching Erestor across the distance. The elf lord smiled slightly, and Erestor replied with his own. Funny, he thought, how Glorfindel disappeared for a week, and now all of this was unraveling. Perhaps now, Fin would tell him why and where he had gone. If he had had his doubts earlier, at least now he was positive, Fin was not a philanderer. He had indeed been out on an errand, but whatever he brought back with him may be far worse than anything Erestor could have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

The meeting should not have lasted this long. Lord Elrond had gathered all the usual parties involved for the preparations of a guest, or guests in this case. Normally, Elrond would inform everyone about the guest, who the person was, their likes and dislikes, habits and such, all done well in advance to make the visitor feel welcome. In this case, there were quite a few people, and all of different races, whose personal requirements would need to be met. Larger quantities of staff would be recruited in order to carry this out. The meeting was called to begin the organization of this Gathering, and it should have ended an hour ago, but questions kept flying towards Elrond from all directions around the long table in the Hall of Fire, and most were not about these future visitors.

“We have heard that an injured person was brought here a few nights ago,” inquired one.

“A hobbit, from what I was told,” said another.

Those who didn’t know gasped. Others nodded in silence or asked more questions. The volume of overlapping voices rose up through the rafters of the vaulted ceiling until it sounded like the buzzing of bees, Erestor thought. He clamped his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was used to the quiet of the library. This racket was giving him a headache. And why was he called upon to attend a meeting that was mostly for the servant staff. Being the chief counselor, Elrond would have held a separate meeting with Erestor and all of the counselors. There was something more to this than meeting the needs of guests, and he knew it had something to do with Glorfindel and this weapon that the twins spoke of. Order was needed. Elrond was being bombarded with questions about a supposed injured hobbit. Erestor stood up from his chair, clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and waited for the chatter to die down. When it was quiet, he smiled professionally around the table, his gaze ending on Elrond.

“My Lord, I think it has been established how many dwelling places we will need for the various guests who will be joining us. Might we get on with other matters? Your counselors would like to know what purpose we may serve.”

Elrond nodded to Erestor, “Thank you Chief Counselor.” He then paused and glanced around the table. “I can see that secrets do not stay secret for long under my roof. To answer your many questions … yes, we have an injured guest in our Healing House, a Hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins.”

Whispers spread around the table momentarily— the name Baggins was recognized right away—and then died away as the elves waited for more information. Elrond continued, “You will know the name Baggins, I am sure. Frodo is nephew to our beloved hobbit friend, Bilbo.”

Elrond turned to Glorfindel, who sat next to the Lord of Imladris, and gestured for him to stand, “Perhaps Lord Glorfindel would like to continue.”

Glorfindel stood from his chair, his long golden mane falling over his shoulders. Not a single person spoke, moved, or seemed to breathe as they waited for the High Elf to speak. Glorfindel nodded to Elrond, who took a seat, “I was the one who found Frodo and his traveling companions, and brought the injured hobbit to Rivendell. I had been out,” he paused and glanced at Erestor, “wandering,” then continued to his audience, “and came across Estel and a group of young hobbits. Frodo had already been injured … stabbed by an enemy’s poisoned blade. The hobbit was in danger of succumbing to his wound. Three other hobbits traveled with Frodo, none of whom was injured, outside of a few cuts and bruises. I saw Frodo quickly and safely to Rivendell, while Estel brought the rest of the travelers along later.”

“When did this happen?” someone called out.

“Yes, and where?” said another with concern.

Glorfindel looked down to his folded hands, and then settled his eyes upon Erestor, “Lord Elrond and I have watched over Frodo for the past two days.”

Erestor’s eyes narrowed. So, Glorfindel had been in Rivendell for two days, and had not told him he was here. It was understandable if he could not come to Erestor, since he was assisting Elrond in saving the hobbit’s life, but he could have sent a messenger, damn him.

Glorfindel shrugged one shoulder in apology to Erestor, as he turned back to the other members of the meeting, “The attack took place at Weathertop, and I found the traveling party some ways east of there, in a glade near the main path to the city.” 

“And the enemy?” someone asked.

“We have patrols out looking, but none have been found,” Glorfindel answered.

At that point, Elrohir stood and continued where Glorfindel left off, answering questions about orc sightings and possible attacks. For now, Rivendell was safe.

* * *

It was quite late by the time the meeting ended. The elves would start their duties in the morning. For now, everyone gathered at the feasting hall or went home to their families. Erestor waited for everyone to leave the hall, as did Glorfindel, and they separately made their way to the veranda at the back of the Last Homely House.

Erestor arrived first, pushing the veranda doors open and stepping outside. The porch overlooked a beautiful garden, now lit by lanterns, and the soft pale light of a half-moon above. The counselor’s ears were thankful for a rest. After so many hours of endless chatter, the silence was a welcomed luxury.

The autumn flowers were in full bloom. Erestor caught the scent of the sweet clematis that covered the archways in the garden below. Blue and purple aster, goldenrod, toad lilies, all of the flowers of fall were in abundance, though now, they were covered by the dark of night. Another scent drifted onto the veranda, the recognizable spice that was Glorfindel.

He joined Erestor at the railing, leaning on his arms, and looking out over the garden, “My favorite time of year,” Glorfindel said through a smile, “What is yours?”

“I have always been partial to the stirring, the early spring,” Erestor replied.

Glorfindel laughed, “It mimics our ages. You are spring. I am fall.”

“Winter is more like it,” Erestor jested, but his face sobered in an instant. There was still the matter of this errand to discuss, and the more he thought about it, the more perturbed he became, “So, you have been in Rivendell for a few days.”

Glorfindel moved slightly, and Erestor observed how the moonlight played with the shades of gold in his lover’s hair. Now it looked like honey fresh from the comb, and it flowed down his back just as smoothly. Erestor longed to feel it spilling across his thighs and—

Damnit, he thought to himself, Glorfindel was a difficult person to stay mad at, “Why did you not tell me you had come back?”

“For the same reasons that I could not tell you I had left,” Glorfindel answered.

Erestor pushed away from the railing and glared at Fin, who was still gazing out over the garden, eyes half closed as he breathed in the scent of the clematis. Erestor was upset with how unconcerned Glorfindel seemed to be about the situation, “You do not trust me, is that it? It seems even Elrohir and Elladan were more informed than I was.”

“I came across the sons of Elrond as I was bringing the hobbit Frodo here. They did not know anything other than that.”

Erestor was beginning to see red, “They know about the enemy’s weapon.”

Glorfindel turned his head to the side, looking at Erestor from the corner of his eye. Finally, a reaction, Erestor told himself, “They told me before the meeting took place. So it seems you can discuss important matters with them, but not with me.”

“I did not tell them of this accursed thing. Elrond must have discussed it with them,” Glorfindel said in a calm and even tone. His eyes shifted back to the garden, but he seemed to look past it, as if remembering something. Then he rose from the railing and faced Erestor, “I could not say anything to you or to anyone. Lord Elrond sent for me in private, and asked me to leave right away. He knew of the hobbits and Estel. He knew Frodo was injured, and he knew … he knew of the weapon. That is why he asked me to go out and find them, to bring them to safety.” Glorfindel stopped and reclined on the railing once again.

“All of this I can understand, but why didn’t you tell me when you came back? Surely, your errand was completed. The hobbit was in Elrond’s very capable hands. You could have sent word, even if you could not come and tell me in person. I thought you had gone away again, like you always do.”

“Is that why you tolerated Lastar’s advances?” Glorfindel asked gently.

Erestor stepped away from Glorfindel, and turned to the veranda doors, noticing that they were closed. Fin must have done it, hoping for a private moment. Just as well, Erestor thought. No one needed to hear their little spat, “Maybe I would have stopped it sooner had I known you were here, in Rivendell.”

“That should not have mattered, Erestor,” Glorfindel said in a raised voice, “I may leave from time to time. Should I assume you will go to whoever approaches you while I am absent?”

“I knew we were not past this,” Erestor murmured, “I thought you had left me. I thought you had tired of me, or decided to drift across the countries once again. It is what you do, Fin. It is who you are, and sometimes I am inclined to think I could not change that about you. I am not a traveler, or a warrior, or a hunter, or a lordly elf. I am chief counselor, a master of Imladris’ libraries.”

Erestor swung around and found Glorfindel standing behind him. The counselor’s ire was about to peak, “What else am I to think? Look at you. You are a warrior, a legend. The Valar have blessed you with special abilities that no other elf possesses. You are strength and power. You should want someone equal to your own capacity, and I know they are out there. I know you have sought comfort from some of them. Your warrior friends, for example, when you are with them you are different. You become that warrior who fought against the forces of Morgoth. I see the bloodlust return to your eyes when you speak of fighting side by side with others like yourself, and I think, that is who you should be with.” As he finished speaking, Erestor went back to the railing, turning his back to Glorfindel, to leave him standing alone.

Glorfindel went to him and reached out, touching his back.

“Don’t,” whispered Erestor, “I will not give in to your touch this time.”

Glorfindel stood behind Erestor, close enough that they could feel the heat of their bodies through their clothes, “Fine then, I will not touch you if that is what you want.”

The mighty elf lord was silent as he observed Erestor’s rounded shoulders, his slim waist, and lightly muscled arms, but he would not touch him. Instead, he spoke, “Do you think that because you chose a career within the courts that you should only be with others like yourself?”

“No,” Erestor answered.

“Hmm, because that is what it sounds like to me. I am a warrior so I should be with a warrior.” Glorfindel lowered his head to whisper behind Erestor’s ear, “You are right about one thing though, I have had warriors as lovers. I know what it is like to feel the flex and pull of muscle beneath me, to take an ellon while the bloodlust courses though my veins, to take him while we are both covered by our enemy’s blood as well as our own. It is not like this,” he gestured to the garden, “with the sweet smell of flowers to encourage the senses. It is quite the opposite. There is the stench of rotting flesh, the iron taste of blood, a warm breeze from burning fires making it hard to breathe, and a cockstand as hard as mithril.” Glorfindel paused and watched Erestor’s reaction. His chest seemed to rise and fall a little quicker, “Shall I continue?”

Erestor really didn’t want to hear about Glorfindel’s lustful after-battle tryst, but a sketch had been drawn in the counselor’s mind. “Go on,” he answered in a choked whisper.

Glorfindel’s mouth curled into a smile as he ran his tongue across his lip. He stood up straight, and went on, “Smoke surrounded us like a veil, the darkness of a hidden tunnel sheltered us from the enemy. My battle mate stood before me, both of us filled with the lust. He did not resist when I pushed him against the cold stone.”

Erestor could almost smell the smoke, the marble railing beneath his palms like the stone wall Glorfindel spoke of. He allowed his mind to imagine the scene, Fin’s words carrying him into the story.

“There is something carnal about taking an individual in such a frenzied state. There’s no game to play, no questions, no seducing, nothing but undisciplined need.”

Erestor twisted slightly at the waist, readjusting himself as he cock jumped to life at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice. He knew what this battle mate must have felt. Glorfindel was very convincing and overpowering. He had made Erestor beg a time or two, maybe three now, if the gilded warrior continued his story.

“Is everything alright?” Fin asked.

Remembering that he was supposed to be mad, Erestor cleared his throat, as he tried to regain some of his composure, “Quite fine,” he answered. He waited for Glorfindel to continue. Damn him again, he was going to make the counselor ask. Erestor tried for defiance, but lost out to desire, “You may continue, if you like.”

Glorfindel could see that Erestor was trying very hard to sound uninterested, but the heat from his body and the constant fidgeting told him otherwise, “I reached around, took him in my hand, and gave him his pleasure first, capturing his essence in my palm.” He paused and let out a short laugh, “You have to be creative on the battlefield.” He pressed lightly against Erestor’s back and went on, “I prepared us both, and then brought myself to him, pausing before I went any further. You see, it was his first time with an ellon. I told him that we didn’t have to do it this way. There were other ways, but he said the pain would help him forget all that had happened, the death, the blood, fallen comrades. It had been too much … for both of us. We needed to forget.”

Erestor stayed facing the garden, his hands squeezing the railing, the ache in his balls excruciating, and his cock begging to be free of his trousers. Glorfindel was aroused too. His body pushed against Erestor’s back just enough so that he could feel the hard bulge through the fabric.

“I positioned myself and pushed in slowly. I could feel him tense, and I whispered to him what to do. I can remember seeing his fingers clawing at the wall, his head bowed, and the sound of a quiet whimper as I thrust into him, and all the while, my own body was reacting with wanton abandonment. I was not gentle, but he wanted the punishment I was inflicting upon him.” Glorfindel wrapped some of Erestor’s hair around his finger and tugged lightly, “I took his hair in my hand and pulled his head back. I wanted to see his face as I fucked him, his eyes shut tight in pain, his mouth wide open in a silent scream of ecstasy. The two mingle together quite well, don’t you think?”

Erestor’s breath was heavy and audible. He could just imagine the sight of these two young warriors, one pinned against the wall and the other driving violently into his body. By the gods, Erestor wanted Glorfindel to do the same thing to him now. He wanted to be that soldier, completely submitting to Fin’s expertise. If he could only hold out for a little longer, to play this game of wills. It always started with an argument, and ended with Erestor calling out the elf lord’s name repeatedly with glorified satisfaction. The sex had usually been this way, and it was euphoric, but it meant losing the argument.

Erestor tried his best to not give in, but his body deceived him, and he pushed back against Glorfindel, needing to feel their bodies rub against each other.

Glorfindel, remembering Erestor’s harsh tone a moment ago, pulled away, “I thought you did not want me to touch you.”

It was a warning, and Erestor ceased all movement. Give in now, and Glorfindel won yet again, bloody seductive bastard. Last chance to make a stand, he thought to himself. What would Glorfindel give him for being the victor, or rather, what would Erestor give to Fin. Erestor glanced over his shoulder, “I … don’t … I … I—” It all seemed so much easier in his mind. To Angband with it! He was giving in.

Erestor swung around, the blood returning to his tingling fingers. His hands were cold from the marble. He hadn’t realized he had been clutching the railing so tight. Glorfindel’s eyes were blazing vivid blue, shards of gold striking from the center like a circle of tiny lightning bolts.

“You tell me this … this story in such dynamic detail, and you expect me not to react? Gods, Glorfindel, my body is singing right now. I’m wound so tight, I could explode from the tension,” Erestor admitted reluctantly, “I want you, Glorfindel,” he said in a desperate whisper, “You win.”

Erestor stepped towards him, and reached out with eager hands, needing to feel warm flesh beneath his cold palms, but something in Glorfindel’s mood changed unexpectedly.

He moved quicker than a flint strike, and grabbed Erestor’s wrist with one hand. With the other, he grabbed the counselor’s shoulder and whirled him around, pushing him roughly against the hard railing. Glorfindel’s heaving breath washed over the back of Erestor’s neck, taut lips grazed the back of his ear, and his arm was trapped behind his back, held like a vice by the warriors grip. Erestor was frightened by Fin’s strength, but at the same time aroused by his fierceness. Yet, something was not quite right. Anger began to radiate from the elf lord.

Through clenched teeth, Glorfindel spoke, “Is this what you, Erestor, for me to take you like some savage beast, to shove my cock up your arse so violently that you think you’ll split in two? Do you want to know what that feels like, because I know it well? But there is no love involved in a merciless fuck, and that’s what the bloodlust does. It makes you callous. When there is no more blood to spill, you spill your seed, nothing more,” he paused, looking down and away. Glorfindel’s voice softened, “I know how many times we’ve made love, and I know how many of those times were the rough result of a heated argument. Is that all you want me for, Counselor, because that is not enough for me?”

Glorfindel released his hold on Erestor and stepped away. Erestor felt the absence of his warmth, but his anger hung on the air like a thick fog. The counselor was taken aback. He had no idea Fin felt so strongly. He had taken the warrior back to a time that he must have wished to never visit again, and here he was antagonizing the gilded elf lord. There were no words to be found, no actions to take. Erestor just stood there, as he had been when Glorfindel found him on the veranda, looking out across the garden, but now the night seemed much darker. Erestor shoulders slumped, and he hung his head in defeat. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, “Glorfindel, I didn’t mean to—” he said as he turned, but he found the veranda empty.

* * *

Erestor stood outside of Glorfindel’s room, and reached to knock, but stopped himself. Should he have come so soon? Should he just go back to his own quarters and speak with Fin in the morning? A horrible fear washed over him that the warrior might decide to leave Rivendell, and Erestor couldn’t let things go unresolved like that. Erestor needed to apologize, but it hadn’t all been his fault. They had both been wrong this evening. Erestor hadn’t given Glorfindel a chance to explain his reasons for leaving. Neither had Glorfindel given him a chance to explain about Lastar. As usual, the night had ended with their bodies raging with anger, and thrumming for release.

Glorfindel was right of course, they often settled an argument in bed. Erestor wouldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed the challenge. They were two completely different people. Erestor liked calm and order, while Glorfindel liked spontaneity and conflict. He had told Erestor once that the counselor needed to remember what it was like to live as the ancient elves had once, free and wild. Perhaps engaging Glorfindel in an altercation, to anger him and then make love while their emotions were running high was not what he’d meant by wild. Still, Erestor had to admit that when they coupled in this way, he felt very much alive. The air would be filled with a static charge that made his skin tingle. One touch from Glorfindel was like an explosive lightning strike. It was very addicting, but now Erestor was beginning to see that it might be damaging, and that was why he was here now, to set things straight.

The counselor decided not to knock, and tried the door handle instead, finding it unlocked. He pushed the door open slowly and looked inside. The room was dark but for the light of the half-moon shining through the window. Glorfindel’s bed was made. The room was tidy. His pack and weapons were still sitting in the corner. That was good, Erestor thought as he slipped into the room, he was still in the city. 

Erestor had been to Glorfindel’s room before, but he’d never taken the time to look closely. It was a simply decorated, comfortable place, but lacking that homey, lived in feel. There were only a few mementos sitting here and there. The most noticeable was a long beautifully sleek sword hanging above the hearth. The silver blade was polished as clear as a looking glass. The grip, made of mumakil tusk, he presumed, was decorated with ornate designs carved into the yellowed ivory. A large sapphire, affixed by what looked like an eagle’s claw made up the pommel. A pair of dusky rose, silken tassels hung down from the guard, which told him this instrument of war was merely a showpiece. Erestor touched the sword’s edge. It was very sharp, a legitimate weapon. He wondered where it might have come from.

“It was a gift,” said Glorfindel from the doorway, as if summoned by Erestor’s curious mind, “from King Eärnil II of Gondor. Polished steel blade, ivory hilt, and the eagle’s claw holding the sapphire is made of mithril.”

Erestor froze at the sound of the voice. Glorfindel spoke as if nothing had just transpired between them. Erestor must add unpredictable to the list of words he used to describe the elf lord. Without turning to him, Erestor spoke, “The Battle of Fornost, I presume?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered.

“It is a very beautiful weapon,” Erestor commented.

“It’s not quite meant for battle though,” Glorfindel laughed.

“No, I don’t suppose so. The tassels might be an obstruction,” Erestor jested in return, “Or they might dazzle your enemy.” He heard Glorfindel walk across the room, and come to stand beside him at the hearth. He still couldn’t look at the elf lord, afraid to see into those sultry blue eyes just yet. Once captured, he might not be able to say what he needed to say. As usual, Glorfindel broke the silence.

“I should not have left you on the veranda.”

“No, I think I might have deserved it,” Erestor answered, “We were both a little out of line.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Erestor knew he would say that. After an argument, they always owned up to their mistakes, and Fin was always in agreement, “I’m not sure what I should say. We are such opposites sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” Glorfindel interrupted.

Erestor went on as if the elf lord hadn’t spoken, “And you overwhelm me at times, but we have been through this before, haven’t we?”

Glorfindel shifted and Erestor felt the warrior’s boot come to rest beside his own. Glorfindel had a distinct aura, a combination of spices, a masculine scent that was very recognizable. Whether he bathed with soap infused with it or dabbed oil made from the spice upon his skin, Erestor was not sure, but the ancient elf always smelled deliciously enticing.

“What are you saying then? Has it become too much for you?” Glorfindel asked.

How would Erestor answer that question? The truth was, sometimes it was too much. Glorfindel stirred such strong feelings within him that he felt out of control at times. He wanted to be consumed by him, and then there were times when Erestor thought Glorfindel needed to be controlled. He was so aloof, and Erestor was so orderly. With Glorfindel, emotions surged from one extreme to another, high and low, love and loathing. It could be completely exhausting.

“I don’t know,” Erestor finally answered. His voice sounded defeated, and he did not want Glorfindel to hear it come out that way, but there it was, floating in the air between them.

Erestor heard Glorfindel swivel and face him. Those eyes … the counselor didn’t have to look to know Fin was gazing intensely upon him. He could feel his skin tingling under the elf lord’s fixed stare; hear an intake of breath, and the rustle of golden hair falling over a broad shoulder. Could he end this whirlwind affair simply because he was frightened of taking a chance on something extraordinary? Could he deny himself the kind of love that most others only fantasized about?

Erestor felt the lightest touch of a single finger under his chin, then his chin lift to Glorfindel’s youthful but ancient face. His eyes remained closed, afraid to look into those blue depths and lose himself again.

“You are not my first love, and I think you know that. I have been fulfilled by love, and I have experienced its affliction. I have lived too long not to know all of the different faces it wears, and through it all, I have persevered. Then there you were … a new face in an ancient ritual. You enchant me in a way I have never known. You say you are overwhelmed, but it is I who drowns in your light. Still, I am not easily defeated, and if you should cast me from your sight, I will survive yet again. But I say to you, Erestor that I should not like to know the pain it would cause my heart to go on without you, for it would be the most excruciating of all love’s wounds, and that is a loss that I should not like to endure.” 

Erestor slowly opened his eyes, and found Glorfindel gazing upon him with such love as he had never known. All of his doubt was erased within those shining blue pools. He managed to find his voice, and cupped his hand to the elf lord’s fair and beautiful face, “You shall never know that kind of pain,” he said to Glorfindel, kissing him lightly, “not because of me.”

Glorfindel breathed a sigh, as if relieved by Erestor’s words, “Stay,” the elf lord said, as he embraced Erestor, drawing him close.

“Always,” Erestor replied, and he allowed Glorfindel to lead him to the bed.

The darkest part of the night happened before the sun began its routine journey into the sky, and during that silent hour, Erestor and Glorfindel found their oneness, slowly and gently. Doubt and dismay had no place within their relationship now. Trust and respect was their new foundation. They would awaken to a new love in their hearts, and nurture the bond that had developed between them.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Erestor hated to have his feet covered, and remembered kicking the silken sheet from them as he slept. He awoke to the feeling of fire heating the top of one foot, and looked down to see a sunbeam illuminating the end of the soft feather bed. That would explain the warmth on his foot. The comfortable warmness at his side was Glorfindel, stretched out long and sleek next to him. Erestor dared a glance at the snoozing ellon, lying on his stomach, arms neatly tucked beneath his head, and his blond locks flowing over his pillow like strands of the finest gold. The elf lord’s ivory skin seemed to hold its climactic glow, as if they had just finished making love.

Erestor took a deep breath to welcome the new day. The air in the room smelled of rosemary oil and cedarwood, along with the natural aura of the night’s activities. The counselor burned it to memory. Being with Glorfindel heightened all of his senses. No matter where they were or what they were doing, Erestor always felt truly alive with him.

He pulled back the sheet from his body and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to wake his lover. Erestor stood and walked to the chair, where he had found his clothes. The last he saw of them, they laid in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the bed. Glorfindel must have moved them so they would not wrinkle. It was those little appreciations that made Erestor’s heart sing. He would have to remember to repay the thoughtfulness somehow.

They had left the window open last night, and the room felt cool. The briskness of the air was more noticeable against his naked body, still warm from the trapped heat beneath the sheets. Erestor reached for his trousers, and heard the slight rustle of fabric. He turned around, and found Glorfindel lying in the same position, eyes still closed, but wearing an amused smile.

“Like anything you see?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel’s eyes opened, and Erestor felt his breath hitch as two blue gems, radiant as the sword’s sapphire, gazed upon him.

“Mmm,” Glorfindel murmured and stretched, “I like all of it, but I must say your arse is my favorite attribute. Shall I describe it to you?”

Erestor laughed, “I’m not sure that I want to know what my arse looks like first thing in the morning, but if you insist, you shall have to do it purely from memory. I must be going. The day awaits my presence.”

Glorfindel rolled onto his side and sat up on his elbow, the sheet falling away to reveal exactly how much he had enjoyed watching Erestor stroll naked across his room, “I think you have earned a day off from your hectic schedule.” His hand playfully patted the mattress, inviting Erestor back to the warmth and comfort of silky bliss.

Erestor felt himself pulse and throb to life. Luckily, he held his trousers in his hands, somewhat concealed from Glorfindel’s covetous stare. He felt himself swoon and regained his control, “You make quite a tempting offer.”

“I’ll send word to Elrond if you would like,” Glorfindel offered to enhance the bargain, “Besides, you work too much.”

Erestor raised a brow in challenge, “Compared to you … yes. But then, I guess you have earned the right to procrastinate.”

“It is really quite freeing, Erestor. You should try it sometime,” Glorfindel answered in a low and seductive voice.

“If memory serves me correctly, wasn’t it you who whisked me away into the wilds on a … hunting trip … and is now the reason you claim that I … work too much?” Erestor retorted playfully.

I really should be on my way, Erestor thought to himself. There would be much to do to prepare for the Gathering that the staff members discussed yesterday. But he is just so irresistible, he said finishing his thought. Erestor watched as Glorfindel curled his finger enticingly, calling him over. Erestor gave in easily, “I do not need you making excuses for my absence. I’ll send word to my assistant. He can inform Elrond, should he ask of my whereabouts,” he said firmly, and then dropped his pants back onto the chair, “Not just yet, though. It is still early.” Erestor made his way back to the bed.

“After the kiss we shared in front of the council yesterday, I think Elrond will understand your reasons,” Glorfindel reminded him.

The elf lord held the sheet open as Erestor climbed back into bed. Then he covered them both and began ravishing the counselor’s body with demanding kisses. They whispered words of promise, and caressed each other until they had manipulated mind, body and spirit. Erestor noted how well Glorfindel knew the male body, and how quickly the warrior had him thrumming with need.

Glorfindel must have noticed too. He threw the sheet from their heads, his gilded hair a wild mess. He got onto his hands and knees, stretching for the side table as he hovered above Erestor, “What shall it be, the rosemary oil or the lavender?”

“Not the lavender or I’ll never get out of your bed,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel made a huffed laugh through his nose, “Lavender it is then.”

“You are simply wicked this morning, aren’t you?” Erestor smacked Glorfindel’s bottom as it stuck up in the air while he reached for the oil.

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder, “Do that again, and you’ll find out just how wicked I can be.”

Erestor cocked an eyebrow, “Tempting as that sounds, I really cannot stay too long.” He paused and watched Glorfindel as he came back and knelt between his legs, “Though long enough to enjoy this pleasant morning with you, my love.”

Glorfindel smiled victoriously, and prepared himself, as well as Erestor, with the rosemary oil, “I should pray that morning never ends then.” Fin threw the sheet back over them, tenting their bodies beneath the covers, “Mine,” he whispered possessively in that well-known feral voice that instantly set Erestor on fire.

* * *

Erestor finally managed to pull himself away from Glorfindel’s bed long enough to send a message to Lastar, stating that he was off to a late start this morning, and that he should begin organizing the lists from the previous meeting. Then he fetched a servant to bring some tea and a bit of breakfast.

Glorfindel was still sprawled on the bed like a luxurious cat warming in the sun. Erestor thought of drawing the curtains, but stopped when he observed how radiant his lover looked in the filtered light. Instead, he went to a set of double doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the leaf littered balcony. The tree that shaded part of it was in the process of losing its leaves and the floor was colored with shades of yellow and orange. Glorfindel’s home looked out over the valley below. The land was transforming to that colorful time when the trees looked as though they had burst into flames. It was quite a spectacular show this year. Erestor couldn’t remember the colors being so vibrant. Had they always looked this way? Maybe Glorfindel was right … he did work too much.

There was a knock at the door, and Erestor went quickly so that Glorfindel was not disturbed. The servant came back with the tea, some fruit and biscuits, and assured the counselor that his message to Lastar had been sent, received, and answered simply with, ‘All is well. Enjoy your morning.’

That was exactly what Erestor was doing. He hadn’t felt like putting all of his clothes back on, and instead, dressed in his russet brown trousers and white undershirt, deciding not to button it up.

The morning air was crisp, but the sun was warm. Erestor took the tea tray, and went out on the balcony, where he had a seat on a simple but elegantly curved, red velvet chaise. He poured a cup of tea and lay against the back, letting his shirt fall open so that the sun could warm his skin. His long black hair spilled over the end of the chaise as he tilted his head back, and absorbed all of the luxuries of morning.

“Now here is a sight I will never tire of,” Glorfindel said from the doorway. He was leaning against the white doorframe, wearing a pair of loose fitting black cotton pants, tied about the waist with a belt made of red satin … nothing more. 

Erestor forgot to breathe as his vision washed over the glowing apparition before him. He wanted to throw the elf lord onto the chaise and have his way with him, but instead smiled and held up his cup, “Tea?”

Glorfindel nodded sat on the sofa, while Erestor prepared a steaming cup, “That smells wonderful,” said Glorfindel.

“It is one of my favorites, made with apples and orchids, appropriate for the season,” Erestor replied and handed Glorfindel the cup.

They sat and sipped silently, allowing their senses time to enjoy the scents and flavors. But there was a pressing matter that Erestor wished to discuss, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He would start with a simple question, “The hobbit … will he recover from the poison?”

Glorfindel ran his hand through his hair and breathed deep, “Erestor, it is time you knew what happened. I could not tell the entire story, for Lord Elrond asked that it not all be revealed and cause a panic. Frodo was injured, but not by poison. It was a Morgul blade.”

Erestor sat up and slowly set his cup onto the silver tray, “A Nazgûl?”

“The Witch King himself inflicted the wound. The tip had broken off, and was threatening to travel deeper into the hobbit’s body. By the time I found Estel and the others, Frodo was very close to becoming like them, undead.

Elrond knew about the Wraiths, knew Estel was being followed. That is why he sent me out to find the traveling party. I do not fear the black riders, and they will flee from me. It’s not the first time that I have had dealings with the Black Captain. It was not just Frodo that I was protecting. The hobbit also carried the weapon of the enemy. Had it gotten into the hands of the Nazgûl, we would not be sitting here enjoying this fine morning.”

“It is the One Ring, isn’t it?” Erestor asked.

“Yes, and the reason Elrond has called for this council of all the free peoples. It must be decided what to do with it.”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel, “And what do you think should happen to the ring?”

“There is no other choice but to destroy it,” Glorfindel answered. He moved forward to the edge of his seat, and rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and looked at the floor, “I was sent to Middle-earth just after the Rings of Power were forged. I saw some of them … the three for the elves, seven for the dwarves, nine for men. The one I never laid eyes on was the one made by Sauron. Soon, all of the rings went from sight, once they learned of Sauron’s plans. Some were never seen again, as you well know, but to think that the One is here within our city … well, I cannot deny the fact that I would very much like to see it.”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel curiously, “I’d rather you didn’t. There’s something to be said about rings of power and magic.”

Glorfindel set his cup on the tray, stood from the chaise, and walked to the iron railing of the balcony. He placed his hands upon it, and seemed to rest on his palms, as he looked out over the valley. Erestor watched him, seeing his spine straighten sharply as Glorfindel’s body tensed. He was in deep thought, and Erestor knew it had something to do with the enemy.

The morning was warming up, and a breeze began to play with Glorfindel’s hair, lifting it up and off his shoulders, exposing the taut muscles there and along the collar of his neck. The sculpted body of a swordsman, Erestor thought. All of his strength lay in his upper body. What a sight it must have been to see Glorfindel in battle with raised sword, and fierce face set upon killing. Would he take up his sword yet again? Erestor wondered as he watched the warrior contemplate the future.

Suddenly, Erestor felt his skin prickle, and a finger of coldness ran up his spine. Glorfindel said the ring should be destroyed, but how … and by whom? That was the meaning of the Gathering of the free peoples … to decide who would carry out this deed.

“You mean to this yourself, don’t you,” Erestor said, though his voice was a bit accusatory, “to destroy the ring?”

“I will make no suggestions until everyone has had their say in the matter,” Glorfindel answered, his back still turned to the counselor, “But I cannot help but feel the responsibility of it.”

“And why should the burden be put upon you?” Erestor asked angrily.

“For reasons I don’t know, I suppose,” the elf lord answered coolly, “In the hope of finding out why I am here to start with.”

“I don’t understand.” Erestor said softly.

Glorfindel turned his head to the side, casting his words over his shoulder, “It is nothing.”

As he spoke, Erestor had the distinct feeling that the tree branch overhanging the balcony was casting more than mere shade, as if a formidable shadow was looming over the elf lord. He convinced himself that it was just his imagination, and let the feeling dissolve from his mind.

* * *

A few weeks had passed, and the first of the visitors had arrived, a group of wood elves. Among them was none other than the Elven King’s son, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. Erestor was surprised to see King Thranduil had sent his only heir to Rivendell, and not his close advisors instead. Thranduil was known to be overly protective of his family. Perhaps this was some sort of test for the young Prince. He had come with three other wood elves, guards from the looks of it, to protect his only son.

Erestor had approached Prince Legolas upon his arrival to welcome him to Imladris, and introduce him to his own personal staff that would provide him and his company with anything they needed. The Prince seemed uncomfortable with the idea of attendants who would wait on him and his men, and Erestor explained that all of the visitors would have the same treatment. It was custom in Rivendell to see to every need of its guests, and to make them feel as welcome as possible. 

“We do not mean to be difficult,” Legolas said to Erestor, “But when visiting other realms, we would abide by their laws and traditions rather than have them cater to us.”

Erestor had not had personal dealings with many wood elves, but he had heard of their stubbornness. Some said that it was more to do with their lack of sophistication, or that they were not as refined as other communities of elves. Wood elves were a different race than those of Rivendell, and it was easy to come to that conclusion. However, since becoming involved with Glorfindel, Erestor understood that it just might be that wood elves merely lived more wild than those of Imladris. Glorfindel had that same sense of abandon, and had recently helped Erestor reacquaint himself with the feeling of latitude. The wood elves lived such lifestyle naturally. Erestor had sensed it right away. They dressed much simpler. Their weapons were a bit more primitive. Even their aura was different, as if they had been in the forest so long that they smelled of leaves, bark and fresh turned earth. This gave Erestor a sense of longing to be amongst the wild again. Perhaps he should ask Glorfindel to take him hunting again, after all of this business about the Gathering was through … if Fin was still here and not off risking his life again.

It was still a worry of Erestor’s, to think that Glorfindel might feel the need to go off on one of his journeys again. Whether he was asked to go or not, Erestor knew he couldn’t leave Rivendell. Fin would have to go alone, and that might be alright for him. The elf lord was used to solitude. Since letting Glorfindel into his heart, though, Erestor was not sure he could manage without his lover. It was ridiculous, of course, he told himself. He had been just fine before Glorfindel. Surely, he would be alright on his own again, and it was only temporary. Fin would come back. He would.

Erestor was sitting at his desk when these thoughts struck him. He had parchments and his inkpot in front of him, a stack of books to his left, an open book and a map to his right, and strewn about in whatever space left were a dozen carefully rolled scrolls. He had been busy translating letters sent from the dwarves, requesting certain items of importance that they required before they would—as stated in their letter—step foot on elvish ground. Most of the items pertained to food—salt pork and ale seemed to be a main staple—but they also requested certain living arrangements for their stay. Erestor was not sure if they required some of these things for mere comfort, or just to be burdensome to the elves who had to acquire them.

The Dwarves did not care much for elves, but they considered Lord Elrond and his home to be neutral ground. The counselor wondered what their reaction would be when they discovered that there were wood elves amongst the members of the Gathering. Longtime rivals, these two races had not had any dealings with each other in many years. Thankfully, it was not King Thranduil who decided to host the meeting, Erestor laughed to himself.

The sound of voices and hearty laughs wafted up through the open window. Erestor new one voice very distinctly … Glorfindel. He hadn’t seen him all day and to hear him now lifted his spirits. Erestor went to the window and looked out. Down below in a courtyard, Glorfindel was walking along with the two guards that arrived with Prince Legolas. Erestor noted how much different they looked from the Prince. Where Legolas was tall and lithe, his guards were broad and well-toned through the chest and arms, dressed similarly to Glorfindel, leggings and tunic with swords at their sides. Warriors, Erestor thought to himself. Somehow they always found each other in any circumstance, like some brotherhood of brawn.

He was suddenly reminded of an ant colony he had observed as a youth. The worker ants were small and fast, always on the move, and getting their job done in an orderly fashion. They never seemed to worry about enemies disrupting them because they were well protected by the soldier ants, twice the size of the workers, with large heads and powerful jaws. The soldier ants were slow and usually unmoving, standing guard over the working colony, ready at a moment’s notice to attack and kill any threats. The worker ants never took notice of these loyal guardians. They just knew they were safe and did their job. The soldiers never interacted with the workers either, and silently stood by. But when another soldier came to relieve the other, they recognized each other right away, and seemed to become grateful to see another soldier after hours of watching the workers run to and fro. They would touch each other with legs and antennae, moving slow and careful with each other, and looking generally glad to be with one another.

Erestor’s attention came back to Glorfindel and the Mirkwood guards. They walked together in a group, laughing and smiling, patting each other’s shoulders, relaxed in each other’s company, and paying no attention to the other elves—servants for the most part—walking quickly to whatever destination they were expected.

“Can I be of any help?” said a soft voice.

Erestor was startled to see his assistant peeking through the partly open door, “Ah, Lastar, come in,” he called.

Lastar gracefully floated into the room, and came to join Erestor at the window. He looked down to see what the counselor was looking at, “I see what has drawn your attention,” Lastar commented as he saw Glorfindel below. Erestor remained silent, but smiled to himself. Lastar watched a moment, then spoke, “You are very fortunate to have captured the attention of one so great.”

“I am not sure how much fortune had to do with it,” Erestor replied, feeling a little uneasy talking to Lastar about his relationship. A while back, Lastar had been smitten with him, and was about to reveal his feelings when Glorfindel interrupted. Erestor had always felt like there was unfinished business with Lastar, but he’d never brought it up.

It seemed he wouldn’t have to, as Lastar continued, “I never properly apologized for my behavior that day in the library. I should never have—”

“You did not know about Glorfindel and I. No one did at that point. There is nothing to apologize for,” Erestor said kindly.

Lastar blushed and looked to the ground, “I must admit I was frightened to come back to the libraries after that. I thought for sure you were going to reassign me somewhere else.” He gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, we have all had our moment of befuddlement from time to time. It’s happened to me more than I would care to admit.”

Lastar smiled and glanced at Erestor from the corner of his eye, “Thank you for understanding.”

“Besides,” Erestor said a little louder to erase the tension between them, “I could not have sent you away. You are a great asset to me, Lastar. To be certain, you make my job much easier, and I am grateful.”

Just then, the three warriors below stopped as Prince Legolas approached them. Erestor took the moment to observe the guards more closely. One had sable brown hair and the other’s was almost a match to Glorfindel’s golden locks. Both Mirkwood elves wore their hair plaited at the sides so that the braid ran from their temples and down behind their ears. Warrior’s braids, Erestor thought. Most soldier elves kept their hair tied in this fashion. Glorfindel had been the only one he knew that let his hair hang loose.

The blond guard went off with Legolas towards the direction of Elrond’s quarters. Glorfindel and the brown haired warrior spoke a moment, smiled and laughed, then Glorfindel grasped the guard’s upper arm, ushering him along towards the practice grounds at the opposite end of the courtyard. The guard raised his arm, his hand coming to rest between Glorfindel’s shoulder blades. It had only been a gesture of friendship, but Erestor couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealously to see another elf’s hand on his lover. He knew it was ridiculous to feel this way, and had never experienced a response like it before, but he could not help stiffening his spine at the sight below.

“It looks like the Mirkwood elves are making themselves at home,” Lastar commented.

Perhaps a little too comfortably, Erestor thought inwardly, as he watched Glorfindel and the Mirkwood warrior draw their weapons and begin swordplay.

Lastar blew a short laugh through his nose, “Warriors … they always manage to find each other don’t they?”

“Just like the ants,” Erestor muttered under his breath.

“Pardon?” Lastar said when he didn’t understand.

“Oh, nothing,” Erestor said, forcing a smile and turning from the window, “So you said you came to help?”

“Of course, what would you like me to do?” Lastar said enthusiastically.

Erestor led him to the desk and pulled up an extra chair, “Are you familiar with Khuzdul?”

* * *

A few hours later, almost all of the letters had been translated, and the elvish scrolls placed in their proper places, ready to be delivered to their destinations. The kitchen staff needed to know what foods to prepare, and the maidservants needed to know about housing for the dwarves. There were a few other details to look into, but everything was organized now. It was just a matter of delivering the scrolls to the proper staff members.

“I’m not sure if they require goose grease for their beards or for their bread,” Lastar remarked, as he tried to translate the last letter.

“Just add it to the list for the kitchens and let the dwarves sort it out,” Erestor laughed.

Lastar let the parchment slip from his fingers, and set his quill down next to it, “Khuzdul is difficult on the eyes,” he said blinking and stood. He stretched his long body, and walked to a shelf, picking up a decanter of wine and two glasses. Lastar brought them back to Erestor’s desk and poured them each a glass. Then he collapsed back into his chair. They sipped silently for a while, resting their aching wrists.

“Who would have ever thought the life of a scribe could be so tiring,” Lastar stated.

“I just thank Aulë that dwarves rarely visit Imladris,” Erestor chuckled. The wine was warm going down and now it warmed his belly, making him sink into his chair and melt into the cushions. He lifted his feet, and rested them on the arm of Lastar’s chair.

Seeing his glass almost empty, Lastar reached for the decanter and refilled Erestor’s goblet, “This is a very good vintage. It works quickly through the system.”

Erestor nodded, “Dorwinion, a gift from Prince Legolas … his father’s private stock.”

“There’s one thing to be said about Mirkwood elves, they know their wine,” Lastar said, raising his glass and watching the deep burgundy color swirl around the sides, “And they have exceptional looking soldiers. Do you think all of Mirkwood’s army looks as robust as those guards?”

“Hmph, I hadn’t noticed,” Erestor replied nonchalantly.

Lastar sat up and leaned towards Erestor. “Did you not take notice of those generous shoulders, or those exquisitely taut backsides?”

Actually, he hadn’t. Erestor was too busy fuming over the guards hand resting upon Glorfindel’s back. Lastar noticed the begrudging look in Erestor’s eye, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Erestor shook his thoughts, “No, quite alright. I just didn’t look at them in that way.”

“Well, I guess you have no need to, not with Glorfindel as a partner,” Lastar commented. Erestor’s look did not soften. “You … oh, you are not worried about him and the guard, are you?”

Erestor hadn’t known he was so easy to read. He smiled, “Of course not.”

Lastar moved his chair so that it faced Erestor’s. They sat with their knees almost touching, “I am quite sure you have nothing to worry about. Glorfindel seems to adore you. I’m not the only one to notice. Many elves say that of all his lovers, you seem to be the only one to have tamed him. He’s never been in Rivendell for such a long period of time.”

Erestor knew Lastar was only trying to help, but he was bringing up some of the very things that worried the counselor. His mind flitted quickly back to the thought of ants. What would happen if a soldier ant coalesced with a worker? There must be some reason he had never seen them as a pair.

“Do you think there is some truth to what you said earlier, about warriors always seeking each other out?” Erestor asked. The wine was indeed making him quite brave to be talking about his love life with his apprentice.

“Well, yes … but I meant as having something in common amongst them, you know … war and weapons and such.” Lastar watched the distant look on Erestor’s face, and laid his hand on the counselor’s knee, “I may be out of place to ask this, but … has … has something happened to make you think Glorfindel has sought comfort elsewhere?”

Erestor’s head shot up and his eyes widened, “No … no, of course not. That is not what I was— No I was just thinking about—”

Lastar’s hand squeezed Erestor’s leg, “I would hate to think he could hurt you.”

“It is nothing like that, Lastar,” Erestor answered quickly. Then he smiled forcedly, “It’s just this damn Dorwinion wine putting thoughts into my head that have no reason to be there. Glorfindel and I are fine.”

Lastar studied Erestor a moment, and then he patted the counselor’s knee, “I am glad for that. I really am, but should you ever need someone to talk to … I know I am just a lowly assistant, but—”

“You are not a lowly assistant. Don’t ever refer to yourself as such,” Erestor corrected.

Lastar removed his hand slowly from Erestor’s knee, the tips of his fingers lingering before lifting. Then he stood from his chair, “Well, it is late and I am famished. Care to join me for a bite to eat?”

“I think I’ll just finish this last translation, and head off to bed,” Erestor answered.

Lastar bowed politely, and reached for the doorknob. He stopped and looked back at Erestor, “Good evening, Lord Erestor, and do take heed of that Dorwinion,” he smiled.

Erestor chuckled to himself, “Good night, Lastar, and thank you for your help.”

* * *

Erestor finished the last scroll, rolled it up, and added it to the others. He leaned back in his chair and breathed deep, releasing it slowly, “And where are you this evening, Glorfindel,” he said to himself.

As a matter of fact, he hadn’t seen the elf lord all day, except when he spied him from the window in the company of the Mirkwood soldiers. Perhaps Glorfindel decided to entertain the visiting elves for the whole day.

“But it is well past sunset,” Erestor argued with himself. It had been a very trying day, and he longed for the company of his lover. The Mirkwood elves had had him all day.

“Well, if they had any of that Dorwinion wine with them, they are probably all half-crocked by now,” he said with a laugh. The vision of three mighty warriors sitting around, enjoying the effects of the strong wine played on Erestor’s mind. Then he suddenly envisioned the dark haired guard’s arm casually draped over Glorfindel’s shoulders, slipping down until his hand was on the small of Fin’s back.

Erestor shook his head, “No, he would not.” He truly believed that, but some dark malicious place in the back of his brain implanted the thought, and now it was slowly growing.

Lastar’s words came back ringing loudly, ‘Warriors … they always manage to find each other, don’t they?’

“Nonsense,” Erestor said as if to answer an invisible Lastar. He needed to get out of his office, he decided. The wine had warmed him and left him a bit light headed, but he could manage a walk in the night air. He would check the Hall of Fire, and see if Glorfindel and the others were there while he was at it.

Erestor made his way to the great meeting hall, nodding politely to passing elves, what few there were. It seemed to be a particularly quiet evening, but then, everyone had been busy completing final details as they awaited the coming of their guests.

He entered the Hall of Fire, and found it to be empty, not a soul was around, “Perhaps they are at the dining hall,” Erestor said to himself and turned to leave, but a noise from the end of the Hall caught his attention, a slight whimper. He strained his ear and listened … nothing.

“Perhaps it’s just an owl or—” He paused when he heard it again, very faint somewhere at the other end of the Hall. He couldn’t see anyone, and there was nothing down that way except the large hearth and—

“A storage closet,” he said aloud, finishing his thought.

Erestor stood still as a stone, barely breathing, as he listened. Sure enough, another whimper sounded, “That is no owl.” It wasn’t someone crying either. It was the whimper of pleasure, someone lost to the throws of passion.

“Well, I don’t know who it is, but it’s not Glorfindel. He does not make those kinds of noises,” he confirmed. But then, Glorfindel did not make any noise, besides the quiet whispering words of encouragement as he carefully brought Erestor to the height of ecstasy, and whoever was making those noises was well on their way to the finale.

“What am I saying? Why would I ever think Glorfindel would do such a thing?” he argued, but a memory came to him, something he had not thought of in a while. It happened at an inn somewhere along the way during a hunting trip, and before they admitted their feelings for each other. Glorfindel and Erestor had spent the evening there, and Fin had quickly found someone to keep him company while Erestor found his own satisfaction in the company of a barmaid. Glorfindel had been in the adjacent room. The whimpers and pleas that came through the wall had not been Glorfindel’s then either. Fin was a quiet lover, keeping his voice low so that only his partner could hear.

Curiosity got the better of Erestor, and the wine in his system helped his bravery. He slowly made his way down the Hall, looking behind to see if anyone had entered. No one had. All remained quiet, except for the moans coming from the storage room. Still only one voice was making all the noise.

Erestor finally reached the room, off to one side in a corner at the back of the Hall. He had never paid it much attention before. It was a storage room where the maids went for extra linens and the like, and perhaps a comfortable hideaway for a liaison. He listened for a name, but no words were being formed, only groans and heavy breathing, and only one voice.

Someone in there was being coaxed into a euphoric frenzy, and whoever was responsible was doing it quite aggressively, from the sound of skin slapping skin. Erestor knew what position they were in, for he often found himself like that with Glorfindel … lying on his back with the elf lord slamming into him. Erestor recognized the same familiar sounds, and could just imagine himself in that closet.

“But it couldn’t be Fin in there. He wouldn’t … would he?” Erestor whispered.

‘. . .of all his lovers . . .’ 

Lastar’s words came back to haunt him. Perhaps Glorfindel knew the Mirkwood guards, and had had an affair with one of them during his travels … a past lover … someone he could not sexually resist no matter how much he had said he loved Erestor. And if he were seduced with the Dorwinion and—

Unable to contain himself any longer, Erestor put his hand on the handle of the door. His heart was beating out of his chest. His palms were sweating, and he felt an uneasy shiver run down his spine. What would he do upon finding Glorfindel with another? Perhaps he should not do this and confront Fin later.

“An ngell nîn, tolo ar nin!” the recipient begged in Sindarin. For my joy, come with me.

That was enough for Erestor. There was only one way to know for sure just how welcomed Glorfindel was making the Mirkwood elves. He carefully opened the door a crack, and peeked inside. It was very dark, but there was just enough light from a lantern for him to make out two shapes. Just as he thought, the dark haired guard was on his back, legs in the air and his long hair draped down a pile of sacks. He was clawing at the back of someone hovering over him, taut arse pumping quick and hard, golden hair spilling down his back, silently pounding his lover.

All at once, Erestor’s heart sank to his stomach. Then a sharp pain grew in his belly, and he felt the wine begin to rise, but he subdued the urge to vomit. Anger replaced the feeling of lost love. He felt his body tense, and his fists clenched until his fingernails cut into his palms.

The golden haired elf leaned forward and stilled himself, buried deep within the other. The dark haired elf gave a strangled cry of ecstasy, and spilled himself between their bodies. They both seemed practiced in containing themselves for the sake of secrecy.

Erestor was livid, and threw the door wide open, making it smash into the wall. The naked elves were startled. The dark haired guard gasped. The gilded one pulled from his lover and covered himself with his shirt that was nearby. Erestor was about to yell obscenities, but stopped when he saw the unfamiliar face. The blond elf was not Glorfindel.

Erestor’s mind reached for a hidden memory of the three warriors walking to the practice field, and recalling how much Fin and the blond guard resembled each other, at least from behind. Shock turned him to stone, and he could not speak or move as he watched the two Mirkwood guards fumble around for clothes or linens, anything that would cover up their modesty.

By now, the dark haired guard was on his feet, his uniform vest held tight against his nakedness. He was begging for mercy in his Sindarin tongue, “Please, my lord, do not tell the Prince you found us like this. It is … it is forbidden for royal guards to be involved.”

“I … I was … uh—” Erestor was at a loss for words, “Was looking for something … uh … and heard voices.”

The blond guard turned to look at his partner, giving him a stern glare, “Did I not say you were too loud?” He looked back at Erestor again with a steely regard. He seemed to be the only one not completely thrown by the situation, and in control of his emotions, “Will you speak to Prince Legolas about this or not?”

Of course, Erestor would not say anything. This was not a matter for him. Still, something about the blond guard’s tone told him that if Erestor should disagree, he may not live long enough to find Prince Legolas, and inform him of the tryst going on behind his back. Erestor forced a smile and reached for the doorknob, “Not a word. It is none of my business.”

“Thank you Lord Erestor,” called the dark haired guard as he fumbled to put his pants on.

With nothing else to say, Erestor calmly closed the door and took a step back, only to find himself bumping into the solid form of a warm body. He jumped and gasped as he spun around, “Glorfindel!”

The elf lord creased his brows, and looked over Erestor’s shoulder to the door of the storage room, “Erestor, what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” he replied flustered.

“You were looking for me in there?” Glorfindel pointed.

“Never mind, let’s just be on our way and I’ll explain,” Erestor said urgently as he wrapped his arm around Glorfindel to lead him from the Hall of Fire, but the elf lord was as stationary as a marble column.

“I think you will explain now,” Glorfindel insisted.

“You see, I was searching the hall, thinking that you might have gathered some company, come to hear you tell your stories, but found the place empty,” Erestor paused and smiled, “And here you are, so let’s go then.”

Glorfindel released himself from Erestor’s hold and faced him, “You skipped the part about the closet,” he said dryly.

Erestor mentally felt himself slump, but physically stood tall, with shoulders back and head held high, “I thought I heard something … a voice … and I came to see what it was.”

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed, “And what did you find?”

Erestor hated when Glorfindel was like this, insistent upon making him say everything aloud, “Well, I found … I found the closet to be … occupied.”

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, standing with his feet apart about shoulder width, “And you opened the door to see who was inside?”

Erestor nodded.

“You must have had good reason, Erestor. Who exactly did you think was inside?” Glorfindel said, continuing his inquisition.

Just then, the closet door opened, and out came the two Mirkwood guards, fully dressed, though their hair was a bit disheveled, and the dark haired elf’s face was still flushed from the recent lovemaking. Erestor decided to remain with his back facing the closet door. He’d already seen enough.

The guards paused and regarded Glorfindel with a slight nod, in which Glorfindel answered the same. Then the blond elf spoke, “I hope we have not caused any trouble.”

“All is well,” answered Glorfindel.

The blond warrior glanced at Erestor, then back to Glorfindel, “And he will not—”

“Not a word,” Glorfindel interrupted.

The two guards nodded in agreement, or maybe thanks, and exited the Hall of Fire. Erestor waited until they were gone before he spoke, something finally dawning on him, “You knew about … them?”

Glorfindel gave a crooked half smile, “Who do you think told them about the storeroom?” The smile disappeared, and he took a step towards Erestor, “So tell me, when you heard voices coming from the room, why did you go in? Why not just walk away? Who were you expecting to see?”

Erestor took a step backwards. Glorfindel’s tone was a bit threatening, and the counselor was sure Fin already knew the answer, “Will you not let this go?”

“No, I will not, Erestor, for I am assuming you thought I was in there.” Glorfindel accused.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Erestor said, taking another step backwards to counter Glorfindel’s step forward. They were now within the threshold of the doorway.

“But why? Why would you think to find me inside?” Glorfindel sounded hurt by the notion.

Erestor could not avoid this any longer and answered defensively, “I didn’t know what to think. You had been gone all day. Not once did you come by my office for a brief visit or just to say hello. And then I saw you with the guards, walking in the courtyard, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. And one of them put his hand on your back, and you did not shy away. Then Lastar and I were talking about the brotherhood of warriors, and how they are loyal to each other, whether they are Sindarin or Noldorin. And then the Dorwinion wine … and it was late, and my head was swimming with terrible thoughts.”

He hadn’t realized it, but as Erestor was making his confessions, Glorfindel had backed him into the storeroom, until the counselor’s heels bumped into the pile of sacks. He threw his hands out behind him to keep from falling backwards, and Glorfindel closed the distance to keep Erestor in this vulnerable position.

“You believed that I could be promiscuous?” Glorfindel asked.

“I didn’t want to believe it, no. But some part of me needed to see for myself, or forever wonder,” Erestor answered.

Glorfindel reached up and combed his fingers through Erestor’s straight black hair, “Tell me what you would have done had you found me in here.”

“I … I don’t know. I guess, first, I would have attacked whomever you were with. I would be so full of rage that I think I could murder him.”

“You, Erestor, have a wicked jealous streak. Do you know that?” Glorfindel said with that irresistible predatory smile.

“Actually, I didn’t know that until the thought of you mindlessly pounding another ellon entered my mind,” Erestor said honestly.

Glorfindel moved the hair from Erestor’s neck and leaned down, his lips brushing against supple skin, “I can’t say that anyone has ever exhibited jealousy over me before, and I must admit, Erestor, that I am feeling quite aroused by the thought.” 

“Mmph,” Erestor answered, at a loss for words as Glorfindel seduced him.

Glorfindel’s eyes were dark with lust as they focused on Erestor once more, “I find that I am flattered, but at the same time, disappointed that you thought I would ever sleep with another. Have I not confessed my love for you? Does that not mean anything?”

“You have, and it does. I’m sorry, Glorfindel, but I suppose it is my love for you that drove me to such a jealous act. I still wonder why you have chosen me. Why not someone else? At the same time, I would fight to the death to keep you.”

Glorfindel unfastened the hook of Erestor’s surcoat, and pushed it from his shoulders, letting it fall and drape over the pile of sacks. Then the elf lord untied the sash about Erestor’s waist, and let it float to the floor.

Erestor stood in only his robe. His breath was becoming rapid as Glorfindel undressed him. This was not the response he expected, but much better than the argument that he had predicted would happen. Glorfindel pulled away from Erestor and sniffed the air, “It still smells of sex in here.” He unbuckled his belt and untied his laces, “And I think you deserve a proper punishment, Librarian. Turn around!” he demanded.

Erestor was more than willing to be punished for his jealous behavior, but something changed in Glorfindel’s tone, some hint of danger laced through his words. Erestor should deny him his request, but the excitement of this kind of role-play was keeping him from doing so. He turned around, his slippered toes resting against one of the sacks. Glorfindel contoured to his back, his hardened desire pressing against Erestor’s backside, and warm breath caressing the back of the counselor’s ear, “I’m going to fuck you, Erestor, and you will do only as I tell you to.”

Erestor felt Glorfindel back away, and heard the rustle of leggings being stripped away. Then he felt his robe being hiked up, exposing his naked arse, “Bend over and spread your arms out to the side.”

Erestor did as he was told, though he hesitated first. Then he leaned over the sacks, his head hanging over the other side. His arms draped over the ends, and he felt for something to grasp onto. The pungent musk of sex was suddenly replaced by the herbaceous scent of sage and lavender. Then a warm slippery hand was moving along and into the crevice of his buttocks, spreading oil, an invading finger tantalizing his entrance. Just as soon as it begun, it stopped. Erestor thought that maybe he should stop this game. Glorfindel’s touch was different, too demanding, too detached. It wasn’t his usual manner of care and tenderness. Still, Erestor wanted to push himself to Glorfindel’s limits. This was a side he’d never seen of the elf lord. 

“Glorfindel—”

“Shush!” Glorfindel ordered, “You will not speak. You will not call out. You will remain silent, Counselor, not even a moan. This is your punishment, understand?” Glorfindel’s tone was dark and ominous.

Erestor nodded in agreement , but he was beginning to regret his decision to play. This version of Glorfindel frightened him a bit, though he knew he could stop it. Fin had told him once that he would never make Erestor do anything he didn’t want to do. Erestor wanted to continue, even though the atmosphere had changed. Glorfindel had changed, no longer a caring lover, but rather that lustful warrior after a battle, blinded by wanton abandonment, and needing nothing but the necessity of release. Erestor knew he should stop—this game seemed dangerous— but he had always wanted to know what it was like for a warrior.

Suddenly and without warning, he was being spread wide and stretched, his flesh torn and burning, and his body filled completely. He wanted to scream out in agony … no, in pleasure, but he couldn’t. He was forbidden to. Instead, he stopped breathing, and tried to suffer past the pain.

“Breathe, Erestor, it will make it better for both of us,” Glorfindel whispered.

He released the breath he had been holding, and took his punishment silently. It had been the most erotically agonizing experience of his life, an odd mix of rapture and humiliation. Once he was past the physical pain of being rammed mercilessly without warning, he discovered that it was the absence of tender touches and whispered words of admiration that was the true punishment. Glorfindel was cold towards him, using Erestor’s body for his own amusement. There was nothing he could do to stop it now. Glorfindel was taking what he wanted with no care for his lover. There was no love … this was nothing more than dispassionate fucking. But Erestor had been curious. Now he wished he’d never allowed Glorfindel to seduce him into the store room. He remained draped over the sacks, arms out to the side and legs spread while Glorfindel took his merely lifeless body.

When Glorfindel reached his climax and spilled himself, he made no sound, and Erestor realized that the punishment extended to his lover. Fin had taken what he wanted with no care for Erestor. Now, the elf lord’s shuddering breath revealed his regret in doing so. Erestor wondered if Glorfindel had done this before without guilt. Maybe he had, but Erestor felt the elf lord’s qualm for making someone suffer beneath his powerful hold.

Glorfindel released Erestor and moved away from him. Erestor suddenly felt a slight advantage over his lover. If Glorfindel had wanted to punish him, he would have to follow it through to the end. Erestor stayed lying on his stomach, displayed vulnerably across the storeroom sacks, awaiting further orders.

“You may stand,” Glorfindel said after a long silence.

Erestor pushed himself up, and slowly came to his full height, the skirt of his robe cascading back into place. He felt a bit dizzy from the blood that had rushed to his head, and put a hand out to steady himself. Glorfindel had turned away, and was retying the laces of his leggings, but Erestor noticed his hands fumbled unsteadily.

With his back still turned, Glorfindel shook his head, “I do not know what came over me. I was so angry at you for thinking I would stray, but so aroused to know that you cared enough to confront me if I did.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself then?” asked Erestor, his voice soft but hoarse, “Is this not what you wanted? Was your punishment not severe enough?” There was no emotion in his words as he spoke.

“It was meant to be a game,” Glorfindel responded, finally finished dressing, “But something overtook me and—”

Erestor’s feelings were a mixed bag of anger and regret—mostly anger though—and he turned to face Glorfindel, “You punished me for expressing an emotion that comes naturally to someone with doubts. Do you not find that unfair? I am still learning who you are, Glorfindel. I am going to have doubts from time to time. Will you treat me like this every time I question us … or you?”

Glorfindel was upon Erestor in one stride, his fingers pressing into the flesh of Erestor’s arms, “Tell me you did not want this. You know it would be a lie. You wanted this as much as I did.”

Erestor tore himself from Glorfindel’s grip, “I did want this. I wanted you. I wanted the warrior. I wanted to be ruled by you. But I did not want a savage.” He stopped to regain his composure, as he was almost to the point of yelling. Erestor bent his head to the side, avoiding his lover’s eyes, “There was no love in this act.” Erestor shook his head and closed his eyes in disgust, “How can you separate your feelings so easily? How can you—” He wanted to go on, but the words escaped him.

Glorfindel moved towards Erestor, but the counselor backed away until he was up against the wall of the storage room. Again, he was cornered and half afraid of what Glorfindel would do next. When the elf lord’s face softened, Erestor relaxed a bit, but he was still wary. Glorfindel’s moods could switch from one extreme to the next within a heartbeat, and right now, Erestor was vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” said Glorfindel softly, leaning in to kiss Erestor, but the counselor turned his face away. This did not stop the warrior from kissing him though. His lips caressed Erestor’s jaw, and then moved down along the length of his neck, “If you must know, I took no pleasure in it either.” He continued kissing Erestor down the front of his chest, which was still exposed where he had not tied his robes back.

“I want all of you when we make love, and I felt you were not there. It was too empty, and I missed your sweet face and your burning touch.” Glorfindel lowered himself to his knees and untied the sash at Erestor’s waist.

Erestor tugged at his robe, trying to keep himself covered. He was angry and hurt, both physically and mentally. Just a moment ago, Glorfindel had forced himself upon his person. Now, he was sweetly seducing him, the strong sense of adoration back again. Erestor’s mind was a mess of confusion, but his body knew exactly what it wanted. He didn’t want Glorfindel to see what his kisses were doing to him.

“Leave me be,” he said unconvincingly as he held his robe around his middle. Erestor could feel Glorfindel’s eyes upon him, looking up from his kneeling position on the floor, submitting and apologetic.

Glorfindel did not speak, nor did he leave Erestor alone, as he pulled the robe from the counselor’s grip, “I should be thanking you, not punishing you.”

Erestor closed his eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he should stop Glorfindel. He was angry with the elf lord; fury making his heart beat uncontrollably. He should push him away, refuse any apology, and end this … this awkward form of remorse.

“Glorfindel, please,” he said, trying to sound upset and unfeeling, but it came out in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m sorry for ever hurting you, Erestor,” Glorfindel said softly, his warm breath caressing Erestor’s hardened cock.

Erestor gave one more effort at refusing, “Please … you don’t … have to … do … this—” Again, words failed and he was unconvincing as Glorfindel ignored him. Erestor sucked in a deep breath through his clenched teeth, as Glorfindel began working his tongue in a circular motion.

Erestor reached out to push Glorfindel away, but found his hands grasping the back of the elf lord’s head. The more his mind resisted Fin, the more his body obeyed, and soon he was surrendering to Glorfindel’s increasingly stimulating ministrations. At the last, the warrior took him deep into his mouth, and Erestor spilled while crying out in a choked whisper, “You bastard.”

Glorfindel released him, wiped his mouth, stood, and smiled, “I love you too, Erestor.”


	4. Chapter 4

Word had come to Rivendell that the Dwarves would arrive in a few days’ time, and that a Captain of Gondor had left Minas Tirith a while ago—according to the date on the letter. Erestor took advantage of the news, and buried himself in his work. If he was to advise Elrond on anything that might come up during this meeting, then he had to be prepared to have solutions. He knew the reason they all gathered here was to decide what to do with the enemy’s weapon, and he learned as much as he could about that too. Destruction of the ring was the only sure way to rid the world of this evil malice, but Erestor knew what that entailed, and he knew who would insist upon being the deliverer of said destruction.

Erestor paused a moment to think of Glorfindel. He hadn’t spoken to him much since that night in the storeroom. The circumstances had left him confused, not only about Glorfindel, but about himself also. There was another side of the elf lord that he had not confronted yet, something a bit darker than he was comfortable with. But in these recent findings, Erestor discovered his own darkness, or the enjoyment of it. He shook the thoughts from his mind. There was no time for this now. There was work to be done … but first, he wanted to visit with the hobbit, Frodo.

Needing a reprieve from his bewildered mind and his chaotic work, Erestor had taken up visiting Frodo in the Healing House. It was a nice change, and he found the hobbit to be a delight to talk to. Frodo was a young hobbit, just recently coming into his adulthood, and a bit quicker than he might have wanted, according to the stories of his adventures before being rescued and brought to Rivendell. He had an air about him of someone forced to mature before he was ready, still getting a grasp on the realization of responsibility, but desperately clinging to the innocence of youth. Erestor could appreciate that about the hobbit. He understood what it felt like to suddenly be drawn out of the comfort of the ordinary, and thrust into the distress of the unexpected.

And unexpected was the sight that met Erestor as he entered Frodo’s room. Sitting next to the hobbit’s bed, was Glorfindel. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and speaking in hushed tones with the hobbit, smiling most eloquently as Frodo gave an account of his dealings with the Nazgûl. Of course, Glorfindel would want to know about them. Ever since the elf lord had his first dealings with the black wraiths, he seemed to have an interest in knowing their whereabouts.

Frodo’s attention shifted to the door when Erestor entered. There was no chance of slipping out unnoticed now, as Glorfindel turned, giving him a warm and inviting smile. Those blue eyes spoke volumes, Erestor thought to himself. If only he knew the significance of some of their deeper content.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to interrupt,” Erestor said from the door. He took a step backwards, as if to leave, but Glorfindel was on his feet in a flash.

“Don’t go. Frodo and I were just finishing our visit. Please, Erestor, come in and take up my seat. I must be on my way, as it was,” Glorfindel said. His eyes never left Erestor as he walked to the door. He stopped at Erestor’s shoulder and whispered, “I have missed you.”

“My apologies, I’ve been very busy,” Erestor replied, trying to maintain an air of professionalism.

“Can we talk … later … perhaps in your office?” Glorfindel asked, speaking at a normal volume, when he sensed Erestor’s coolness.

Erestor nodded, “Later would be fine.”

Glorfindel reached the open door, turned and bowed to Frodo and Erestor, and then took his leave. Erestor sighed unconsciously and looked up to find Frodo watching him. He smiled and strolled over to the chair next to the bed, noticing that it still held the heat from Glorfindel’s body. It felt like a warm ghostly embrace, as he settled himself down. Erestor realized that there would always be traces of Glorfindel left around for him to discover. The elf lord was never far.

“And how are you feeling today?” Erestor asked.

“Much better, thank you. Lord Elrond said that I could go for a walk today, so long as I didn’t go further than the veranda,” Frodo smiled.

They spoke about many different things for a while, and Frodo told him about something that happened during his adventure that he said he’d almost forgotten about. Erestor listened as intently as he could, but his mind kept drifting to Glorfindel. Frodo couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have Erestor’s full attention and called him out on it.

“Oh, it is nothing, Frodo. I’ve just been very busy lately, and my mind is always rehashing things. Such is the life of a counselor, though,” Erestor explained.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there is something else bothering you. Work cannot be that interesting.”

Erestor laughed, “No, I guess it would not, especially to an adventurous young hobbit such as yourself. But now that you mentioned it … well, I do not mean to pry, but I could not help overhearing part of your conversation with Glorfindel. He was asking about the Nazgûl, was he not?”

“Yes,” Frodo answered guardedly, “but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. I don’t remember much of anything after being stabbed.”

“You were very lucky, Frodo. Lord Elrond is the best healer in Middle-earth,” Erestor smiled.

“Well, if it wasn’t for Glorfindel and his power against the Nazgûl, I may never have made it to Rivendell, or so they tell me,” Frodo said, “I don’t remember much, but I do remember seeing a figure standing upon the shore of a river, blindingly bright and shimmering white and gold. Then the Nazgûl called out to me, and I was drawn to them, finding only blackness and despair, and that’s where I stayed. When Glorfindel told me what he did to save me from the black riders, I knew it was the mighty elf lord of Gondolin that I had seen commanding the waters, and washing them downstream.”

“It must have been a magnificent sight,” Erestor said dreamily.

Frodo knitted his brow and tilted his head to the side, “You have not seen this?”

Erestor chortled at the thought of a glowing Glorfindel, “I think I would remember seeing him lit up like a beacon.”

Frodo regarded Erestor with a serious look and a disappointed tone, “Oh. Well, by the way your eyes shone when I described it, I thought you too had seen Glorfindel’s magic too.”

Erestor reached out and patted Frodo’s hand resting at his side, “Perhaps I have seen his magic, but in a different form.”

Frodo smiled, satisfied with his answer, “Perhaps then.”

* * *

There was a knock on Erestor’s door. Without looking up from his work he called out, “Come!”

Glorfindel poked his head into the room, “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, but when has that ever stopped you?” Erestor answered as he scribbled away on a piece of parchment.

“If I did not interrupt, I would never see you. You work too much, Erestor,” Glorfindel said as he entered the office, closing the door behind him. He walked around the room, picking up this and moving that, not doing anything, but being a nuisance about it.

Without lifting his head, Erestor looked up with his eyes, watching Glorfindel, “What do you want, Fin,” he asked casually, but with a hint of irritation.

“You specifically said later, and it is later.”

“So it is.” Erestor stopped writing and placed the end of the quill back into the inkpot. He picked up the paper he had been writing on, and carefully moved it to the side, making an empty place where he placed his folded hands.

Glorfindel watched him and smiled, “You remind me of an instructor I had as a youth. He always gave me the same look you are giving me now.”

“Then you must have been in trouble most of the time,” Erestor replied in a dry manner.

Glorfindel let him have the last word for the moment, and went about the room looking at books and small trinkets.

Seeing that he was not going to say anything more, Erestor picked up his paper and quill, and set to work again. He admitted that Glorfindel was a distraction, but at least he was here. It had been rather lonely working alone lately, even when Lastar was there to help. Glorfindel always made him feel a vibration of energy when he was near, and he missed that.

Eventually, Glorfindel made his way to the desk, moved a chair next to Erestor’s and had a seat. He watched silently as the counselor dipped the quill in ink, and continued writing. Erestor felt the elf lord’s blue gaze fall upon him, and tried to stay focused, but it was very difficult. As much as he resisted, his body tingled, knowing Fin was studiously observing him at his craft. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Glorfindel was fumbling with some scrolls. Without looking up from his writing, he spoke, “Don’t mix those up. I have everything sorted out.”

Glorfindel brought the rolled up scroll up to his eye, squinting the other as he took a peek. Then he turned to look at Erestor through the scroll, “You are an over-organizer,” he declared.

Erestor tried hard not to smile, but the corner of his mouth deceived him, for Glorfindel was being an irresistible jokester at the moment, “And you are lackadaisical … a daydreamer by far.” Erestor stopped writing, and took the scroll away from Glorfindel, putting it back in its proper place. He paused to look at Glorfindel a moment before returning to his writing. Right now, he was his usual playful self, the personality that Erestor adored, but it hadn’t been that long ago that he saw another side of Fin, a darker side … something he wished not to experience again. That night in the storeroom brought on a range of emotions, leaving Erestor confused and unsure. To love Glorfindel was to love him for all of his different complexities, and he had so many. The one he met in the storeroom closet was a side that he did not think could exist in Glorfindel, forceful and commanding. He had been uncaring … the love was gone, or so it felt. 

The smile left Erestor’s face, and he went back to his writing, “I have a lot to do, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Glorfindel said nothing, but merely sat there and watched Erestor work. Erestor did his best to concentrate, but it was difficult. Then he felt Glorfindel reach towards him, gently taking his chin and turning his head. Glorfindel leaned towards him. Erestor sat frozen and emotionless, but succumbing to his touch, and then he closed his eyes and allowed Glorfindel to kiss him. 

Erestor’s hand relaxed, and the end of the quill rested on the parchment, ink spreading out in a blotch of black, but he hadn’t noticed. He only felt the urgency of Glorfindel’s kiss, the need for forgiveness felt through questioning lips and tongue. Erestor would have given in easily, but the echo of Glorfindel’s voice, assertive and uncaring, rang in his ears. Why had Fin taken him like that, and why had Erestor allowed it?

Erestor’s lips tensed, and he withdrew from Glorfindel’s mouth. The elf lord felt Erestor’s reserve, and slowly released his chin, bowing his head, “You still have not forgiven me,” Glorfindel said.

“I said I forgave you,” Erestor replied too quickly.

“You don’t sound as if you do,” Glorfindel said coolly, “Your distance speaks volumes.”

“I’ve been very busy with all that is going on and—”

“You don’t fool me, Erestor,” Glorfindel said as the volume of his voice lowered.

Erestor pushed back in his chair and stood. He turned away from Glorfindel, fumbling aimlessly with a stack of scrolls, “What do you expect from me, Fin? How am I supposed to feel?”

“I forced something on you that I had no right doing, and if I could take it back I would.”

Erestor shook his head, “That is only part of it.” He paused and searched for the words, “I could have stopped you, but I chose to allow it. Only afterwards did I regret it.”

“Regret,” repeated Glorfindel, “That is a harsh word.”

“Your treatment was harsh,” answered Erestor. Then he faced Glorfindel, and found him looking so desolate. Erestor knew that his lover regretted his actions, “I am just confused. There was a certain excitement when we first … started, but then something changed, and I did not know you anymore.” Erestor moved to a window and looked out over the landscape, “Do you remember the argument we had on the veranda? You told me about a warrior you had been with, and the bloodlust that took you both. I think that I have always wanted to know what that was like. It seemed so exciting and wanton to give in to such urgency. But you had said that there was no love in an act like that. Then when you took me in the storeroom, I thought it would be extraordinary because you … because I … because of our love, but—” Erestor stopped to get a hold of his emotions. He felt Glorfindel come up behind him, but he continued looking out the window, watching the elves below going here and there, and he wished he were with them instead of engaging in this difficult conversation. He turned his head, and spoke over his shoulder.

“You were like a stranger to me. You frightened me, Glorfindel, and I began to have doubts about us. You separated yourself from the situation … from me, and I felt like nothing more than a vessel for your lust. I never thought … I never imagined that you—” Erestor was becoming flustered and angry, and turned so Glorfindel could see he hurt in his eyes, “How can you be so cold? How can you turn your emotions off so easily when you claim to love me?”

Glorfindel breathed deep and let it out slowly. Erestor heard the desolation in that long breath. He knew Glorfindel had been bothered by the incident in the storeroom, the forced sex, the lack of emotions. Erestor was frightened that Glorfindel may not really love him as he had claimed.

“I am completely sure of my love for you, Fin. It is the deepest, most wonderful and most heart wrenching feeling I have ever experienced, yet you seem to be able to set that aside much too easily. I didn’t think you could extinguish your love in exchange for emotionless self-satisfaction, and you did … as simply as blowing out a flame.”

Glorfindel stepped next to Erestor at the window, looking out across the valley, and sighed, “I am not sure what came over me. Maybe it was the two soldier warriors escaping to find their forbidden love, or your jealousy when you thought I was one of them, but my emotions mingled between anger and love. Something took over my ability to make sense of it all, and I … I lost myself. I was thrown into memories, suddenly revisiting my past.”

Glorfindel pushed away from the windowsill, and left Erestor’s side. After a moment, Erestor looked over his shoulder. He watched the elf lord pick up a paperweight from the desk, and turn it over and over in his hands. He set the paperweight down, but his eyes still focused on the blue glass orb. He shook his head, “I have not referred to these visions in a very, very long time.”

Erestor turned from the window, and watched Glorfindel. His eyes had darkened, and his expression was lacking that cheerful glow that he always portrayed. He would not look at Erestor when he spoke, but only stared down into the blue orb as memories came flooding back.

“The warrior I spoke of, the one you just mentioned, he … he was with me in Gondolin.” Glorfindel began, “We were very close.”

“Was he your lover then?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel shook his head, “No, he was my battle mate and my friend. He was betrothed to an elleth who awaited his return from war. And I did love him, but I did not realize it until it was too late.”

Glorfindel took a seat, and patted Erestor’s chair, “Come then, it’s time I told you this story.”

Erestor hesitated, but when Glorfindel’s eyes rose to meet his, the counselor was drawn to his chair, trance-like, and sat down with elegant grace, crossed is legs, folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. He gave Fin his full attention, and Glorfindel went on to tell Erestor about his close bond with his friend and battle mate.

Astarion, his name had been, and he was indeed a faithful friend. Glorfindel had known him since his youth. They had trained together as newly recruited soldiers, and had become close friends over the years. During their soldiering years, they befriended another warrior, Taryon. All three had seen many battles, and come through unscathed. Eventually, Glorfindel was made lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Astarion was assigned to this house, and fought under Glorfindel’s command. Taryon was assigned to the House of the Harp under the command of the elf lord Salgant. Still, they all remained very close, and one day found themselves fighting a famous battle, which would become known as the Fall of Gondolin.

“The fight at the Great Market lasted for hours, and Astarion was by my side through the thick of it. We watched out for each other, and eventually stopped keeping count of the orcs we slayed. But we were separated after the dragon’s raid. All I could do was hope that he was well.” Very few of Glorfindel’s people survived the attack, and he was sure Astarion had perished as he took assessment of the situation.

“And then there was a slight lull in the battle. Through the fire and the haze, a shape emerged, half bent over from exhaustion, his armor singed. It was my friend, my battle mate. I was never so glad to see him. We were both overjoyed. We were not out of harm’s way, but at least we knew we had survived.” Glorfindel had gone to Astarion, expecting to look him over for injuries, but his friend had taken Fin into his grip, arms wrapping around the elf lord, and words of thanks and praise whispered between them.

“I remember looking at Astarion’s battle-worn face streaked with dirt and blood and thinking that he was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. Without a thought, I kissed him. I’m not sure what made me do it, but I needed to know that he was alright. It was not like that of lovers, but out of love no less.” Astarion had allowed it briefly, but pushed away from Glorfindel with a look of confusion, saying that he had not that type of fondness for the elf lord. “But I did feel something from him, for he had allowed it a moment too long. It was only in his lips that I felt this charge. The look in his eyes was that of disloyalty, and I knew he thought of his betrothed.” There was no time for explanations or questions, though, and both elves quickly turned their attentions back to the moment at hand.

“With the battle resumed, we forgot about the kiss and fought on against a sea of orcs. We were glad to be in each other’s company once more, and our spirits renewed. We had cheated death so far, and we felt invincible for a short time, but the orcs kept coming. My men grew weary, and more fell to the blades of our enemies. Soon, my House was nearly depleted. Astarion was still at my side, and I think that might have been my only empowerment. I would let no one hurt him. With so few left, we had each other to protect, and we fought ferociously. I think if we had died in that place, we would have felt a macabre satisfaction knowing we were together at the end of things.” Just when all hope seemed lost, the elf warriors of the House of the Harp showed, reinforcing their numbers, and helping Glorfindel and his men find safe passage.

Their friend Taryon had been of that House, but they had seen no sign of him. Glorfindel asked a passing soldier, who said he had been with them before the invasion upon the orcs in the Market. Glorfindel’s men were on their way to the King’s Square. He and Astarion were the last, and always making sure that everyone made away safely. The same thought occurred to Glorfindel and Astarion, to go back and find Taryon. They would not leave him to fight alone.

“We came upon a most horrid scene. The orcs, who were already ruthless, had turned barbarous. They were no longer just killing. They were … they were consuming some of the dead elves. Others were violating the lifeless bodies.” Glorfindel paused a moment, and Erestor could see how these forgotten memories came flooding back as though it happened only yesterday.

“Did you … find Taryon?” Erestor asked regretfully, for he knew they must have found their friend amongst the dead.

Glorfindel nodded, but took another moment to find his voice, “We saw his battle mate first … dead and lying on the ground … alone. The orcs had not molested his corpse … yet. I was the one who spotted Taryon first, his lifeless body flung across a vendor’s cart. The orcs … they were gathered around, waiting their turn.”

Erestor understood what Fin meant by that. It had not been enough to kill the elves. The orcs thought they could ruin the separated soul by desecrating the body after death, consumption and necrophilia. He felt bile rise in his throat as he thought of Glorfindel coming across the brutal scene.

“I tried to shield Astarion from the sight,” Glorfindel continued, “but he had seen. I told him it was too late. There was nothing we could do. It would not make sense to fight the orcs, and risk our own lives. They were all dead. Taryon was dead … or so I thought.”

Glorfindel had turned away, expecting Astarion to follow as they made their escape towards the King’s Square where the survivors awaited instructions. But his friend grabbed his arm, painfully squeezing his muscles as he kept Glorfindel from leaving. The elf lord turned back, his sight following Astarion’s to the body draped across the cart. To Glorfindel’s shock, Taryon’s eyes were open, when they had not been before. His heart stopped as well as his breathing. Taryon was still alive.

Glorfindel raised his sword, and Astarion followed suit, but Taryon met their eyes, and with a begging look, shook his head slightly. Glorfindel’s anger rose as he gripped his sword tighter around the hilt, but Astarion laid a gentle hand over the elf lord’s clenched fists. His friend had assumed a certain calmness about him as Astarion and Taryon’s eyes locked on each other. Taryon was begging for the mercy of a friend’s execution to end his suffering.

Glorfindel looked down, contemplating, and saw the dead body of one of his men, hand still clasping his bow, and a quiver of spilled arrows next to it, “I picked up the bow with all intention of being the one to deliver Taryon to his death, but Astarion took the bow from me. He told me I had seen enough, and should not have to live with this memory also. Then he took aim and swiftly ended Taryon’s suffering.”

The orcs turned to see where the arrow came from, and took out after Glorfindel and Astarion. They managed to escape though, barricading themselves in the King’s Square with the rest of the troops. Eventually, they could no longer hold the Square as they were besieged by orcs, balrogs, and the dragon. The elves fled southward, towards Idril’s Secret Way, a tunnel that led out of the city. As was his nature, Glorfindel stayed behind to make sure everyone got out. Astarion stayed by his side, silently ushering the survivors towards the tunnel.

It was then, when Glorfindel and Astarion were the last that Astarion fell to his knees, and succumbed to fatigue, sorrow and shock. Glorfindel was at his friend’s side in a flash, holding him in his arms. Astarion looked up at Glorfindel with a tear-streaked face and, for the first time, mentioned the kiss they shared, “He said he had felt the stirring of these desires a long time ago … before he met his betrothed, but he had ignored those feelings, passing them off as love for a friend, and admiration for a nobleman. Then, with the fighting and the blood, with the excitement that comes with war, and the kiss … his feelings were reignited. My own bloodlust was thrumming through my veins, and my need was strong. I found myself kissing Astarion again, but this time he did not resist.”

Glorfindel drew away first, and told Astarion they needed to be on their way before the orcs found the secret tunnel, but his friend would not let him go, “He begged me to take him there in the secret tunnel, with our foes not far behind. I refused, but he insisted. He said he needed it … to find some spark of life amongst the death. My battle lust was strong and hard to ignore. The thought of taking someone in urgency and danger only spiked my desire. And so it was as I described to you on the veranda, but as I asked of his certainty once more, he explained that he needed this as punishment … punishment for killing Taryon, and punishment for desiring men when he had pledged his love for an elleth.”

Glorfindel stopped and leaned forward with his head in his hands, “If you had been there … if you had seen his pleading eyes. Who was I to deny him his request? I could see the battle on his countenance. He had made his choice to take a wife, yet he needed to know what it was he was turning away from. And I loved him, Erestor. I loved him as a soldier and as a friend, and when we kissed, I realized that I loved him more deeply than that.”

Astarion must have seen Glorfindel’s admiration as he considered the request. With a shocking blow, his friend slapped him across the cheek and cursed him, telling him there could never be anything between them. “He said he’d been told that the first time was painful, and that by doing this, maybe he’d not only satisfy his curiosity, but be repulsed enough that he’d never again crave the male form.”

Glorfindel naturally refused, saying that he cared for Astarion as a friend above all else. He tried to talk him out of this absurdity, but Astarion threatened to fine someone else to do his bidding. Then he seduced Glorfindel with trust and loyalty, with friendship and bonds.

“And by that time, I wanted him badly, no matter what his reasons. Our time was running short. Though it all happened so quickly, it seemed we argued for hours. So, I gave in and turned him around, stripped us both of our leggings, and prepared to take him, but I could not bury my emotions. I had wanted him to know the beauty of the act. Perhaps I wanted him to love me in return, but when I gently kissed his neck, he rounded on me and punched me, yelled that he didn’t want to enjoy it. He wanted the pain and nothing more. He kept assaulting me, driving my lust to the surface, enticing me with perverted suggestions, and insulting my ability to do any of these things.”

Glorfindel defended himself from Astarion’s flying fists, his blood heating and pulsing as it did when he fought against the enemy. Soon, he was blinded by battle lust and assailed upon his friend, pushed Astarion against the wall of the tunnel, and mercilessly drove into his body.

“And so I took him,” Glorfindel continued, “I took him with no emotion, no love, but with hate for my enemy, hate for seeing all the death and destruction, for not being able to stop it, and for allowing Astarion to be the one to carry out the burden of sacrificing our friend. I fucked him in hopes of driving that wretched vision out of his memory with every mindless thrust of my cock. I was shocked that I had taken any pleasure from the act, and it wasn’t until Astarion cried out with his own mix of pleasure and pain that I let go.”

When it was over, Glorfindel tried to pull Astarion against his chest, to hold him and apologize, to comfort his friend, but Astarion pushed away, stumbling as he tried to secure the laces of his leggings. Then he sat down roughly upon the tunnel floor, tears streaking his handsome face. He started mumbling, calling out the name of his betrothed, comparing himself to the Kinslayers for taking Taryon’s life, saying he was unworthy of anyone’s affections.

“He stood once more, faced me, and looked deep into my eyes and said, ‘Damn you, Glorfindel, for making me love you.’

“I told him it didn’t have to be this way, and I confessed my newfound love for him. He was only betrothed; there was time yet to dissolve the agreement. I begged him to be with me, to reconsider his future, and allow me to show him how beautiful it could be. He forced a smile through the pain in his heart, and cupped a gentle hand to my face, reddened from his slap. He apologized and I thought he meant for the assault.”

Just when Glorfindel was about to answer, a band of orcs entered the tunnel. They had finally found the secret entrance. Glorfindel picked up his sword, then retrieved Astarion’s sword and handed it to him. They knew there were too many orcs to fight. They would have to run and hope they were quick enough to reach the other end. Glorfindel commanded Astarion to run, and they took off as fast as their elven feet would carry them. The elf lord didn’t look back, assuming his friend was close on his heels.

“I should have made him go before me,” Glorfindel whispered.

Erestor felt his heart go to his throat, and reached out to lay a hand upon Glorfindel’s knee, “Oh Fin, no.”

Glorfindel shook his head, “I suddenly felt very alone, and I looked over my shoulder. Astarion was not there. He had stopped running, and was standing in the center of the tunnel, sword laying at his feet and arms raised out to the side. I called to him, commanded him to run, but he looked back at me with tear filled eyes and said it was all too much, and he could not live with the pain of killing our friend, or knowing that he loved me, but could never be with me. Neither could he betray the elleth he intended to marry and live in a lie.”

Glorfindel started to run back towards Astarion. He would not leave his friend to fight alone, but it was too late. Orcs were filling the tunnel. There were too many to fight, and Astarion stood without his weapon. “He had no intention of fighting them. He was sacrificing himself to give me a chance at escape. ‘Run’ he’d yelled to me. I called to him once more, but he said if I truly loved him, I would go and save myself. The next thing I knew, the orcs had crashed upon him like a tidal wave, and he was gone, swallowed up by evil, without a scream … without a sound.” 

Erestor’s chest tightened as he looked at Glorfindel sitting across from him, head hung low as he relived the horrible memory. He suddenly felt awful for being so cold and unforgiving for the past couple weeks. He got onto his knees and laid his head in Fin’s lap, “Oh, my love, I am so sorry … so, so sorry.”

Glorfindel brushed his hand along Erestor’s long dark hair, “I have not evoked these memories in many long forgotten years. I do not know what brings them to the forefront of my mind now, except that when we were in the storeroom … and the soldiers, and the smell of burning oil from the lanterns … and the walls felt like they were closing in on me … and—”

Erestor raised his head and looked deep into Glorfindel’s sad eyes, “Say no more of that. It is over and done with. You promised it would not happen again.”

“I did, and I shall not.” Glorfindel’s voice became desperate and fearful as he looked down upon Erestor’s face, “Please, believe me when I say I will never treat you that way again. Your eyes … by the Valor, your eyes reminded me of Astarion after we … and I cannot stand the thought of hurting you. I’m sorry, Erestor. Forgive me, please, I beg of you.”

Erestor pulled Glorfindel to him, cradling the golden head against his chest, “I forgive you, Fin, but I ask that you forgive me too. You are not solely to blame. I could have stopped you. You know that. I could have, but I didn’t. I wanted to know, just once, what it was like to feel your warrior soul. If I’d known it would have brought back these terrible memories, I never would have encouraged it. I saw a side of you I’d never known existed, and there are so many different sides to you, Fin. It can be quite exhausting for a simple librarian such as myself.”

Erestor lifted Glorfindel from him, and gazed upon him lovingly, “But I adore you for all your different personalities, some of whom I’m still discovering. I’ll take the good with the bad, for with just one of these missing, you are not you, and I want all of you.”

Glorfindel smiled and kissed Erestor gently, “I’ve hardly seen you lately. Leave your work and come home with me. I just want to lay next to you and hold you close, nothing more … if you wish it,” asked Glorfindel, as he stood from his chair and held his hand out to Erestor.

The counselor took the offered hand, memorizing its strength and gentleness. This was the hand of a selfless warrior, a charitable elf lord, and an unconditional lover. With Glorfindel’s help, Erestor stood, and then took a strand of golden hair between his fingers, “My work can wait. Let’s go home.”


	5. The Council

 

Erestor woke and stretched luxuriously as he lay on his stomach. The soft sheets felt wonderful on his warm skin, and enticingly cool when he moved his arms to fresh areas that hadn’t been affected by his body heat. He lifted his head and turned it towards the veranda, the morning light showing deep red through his closed eyelids. Off in the distance, he heard the sweet song of a meadowlark. Late in the season, he thought, but probably stopping briefly on its journey to warmer climates. A light scratching came from one side of the room, and Erestor started to roll over to see what it was.

“Don’t move, Meldanya,” Glorfindel called to him.

Erestor stretched his neck, trying to look over his shoulder, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sketching your lovely arse,” Glorfindel answered with a smile on his lips.

“Is that all you love me for?”

“No,” Glorfindel said with humor in his tone, “but it definitely draws my attention.”

How was it that not but hours ago Fin had opened to him, like raw nerves touched by a breeze, exposed and vulnerable as he told his story. Now, with the new day, the elf lord was renewed, and back to his cheerful, if not foolhardy self, leaving Erestor to wonder if he would ever get used to this.

Glorfindel had only wanted to hold Erestor throughout the night, but the counselor wished for something more. It had been a very emotional conversation though, and they were both satisfied with nothing more than the warmth of embrace and comforting slumber. Seeing Fin in such fine spirits, he hoped those former cravings might be satisfied.

Erestor heard Glorfindel rustle as he stood from his chair and came to the bed, “You see, you are a marvelous specimen for an elvish body, so sleek and smooth, muscles slightly toned to perfection. This right here,” Glorfindel said, and Erestor felt the light touch of a finger between his shoulder blades, run slowly down his spine, “beautiful definition in the groove.” His finger played at the small of Erestor’s back. “And these dimples at either side … mmph … very sexy.”

The bed moved, and Glorfindel was kneeling next to him, the elf lord’s warm palm splayed firmly at the top of Erestor’s buttocks, “A perfectly rounded arse,” he whispered as his hand roamed to each muscled cheek, giving it a seductive squeeze.

Erestor’s body was thrumming from Glorfindel’s touch, and a finger traced the furrow of his arse, from the top to the juncture of his thighs. Then he felt Fin’s hand kneading the inside of his thigh as the elf lord spoke again, “The skin here is so supple, yet the muscles beneath when tense are vice-like, especially when they are wrapped around my waist.”

Unable to control himself, Erestor responded by arching his back, and offering Glorfindel his sketch worthy arse. Fin’s hands abandoned his body, and Erestor was immediately disappointed, until the scent of lavender enticed his senses. Another rustle of linen signaled Glorfindel’s nakedness. The hand returned, this time slick with the warmth of oil. He waited until the gilded warrior had him thoroughly aroused, his body feverish with need, and then lifted himself as if to roll onto his back. Glorfindel pressed him back into the sheets, and pushed his thighs apart, “Stay just as you are,” he said as his body covered Erestor, drowning the counselor in a sea of billowy cotton.

Erestor breathed out as Glorfindel glided slowly, but steadily into his body. Once settled, the elf lord started to his coaxing rhythm. The weight of the warrior pressed Erestor most delightfully into the soft mattress. He felt his long straight hair gathered and moved to one side. Then Glorfindel brought him about with a warm whisper of how euphoric it felt to be buried within, and an explanation of every pulse, every sensation as it happened. Light kisses covered Erestor’s neck and the side of his face. The slight scraping of teeth ran across his shoulder, sending a shiver along his spine, which made him convulse uncontrollably. At last, the sensation of inevitability gripped them both, bodies tense and writhing tempestuously until the lovers were spent of their energy.

Glorfindel completely blanketed Erestor … body, mind and soul … and stayed that way as he caressed his lover with nose and lips, softening within after making love. Eventually, he slid to Erestor’s side, and the pair drifted in and out of elvish sleep as they recovered.

After a while, Erestor rolled to his side, facing Glorfindel who was lying on his back with a satisfied smile. Erestor knew that look of serenity, as if everything were right in the world, and all achievements had been fulfilled. The counselor felt unquestionably the same.

In the quiet and comfort of the room, Erestor’s thoughts turned to upcoming events, “Elrond’s council will assemble soon.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed, “And you have concerns?”

“Of course I do. I mostly wonder about you though.”

“Me?” Glorfindel said surprised.

“You don’t fool me. I know you wish to be involved. It is what you do, Fin. It’s what you always long for,” Erestor said.

“If I am needed—”

“You are needed,” Erestor interrupted, “Right here … in Rivendell … with me.” He turned onto his back and stared through the ceiling. “You will go if you are asked, won’t you?”

“We don’t know of any plans at this point,” Glorfindel comforted.

“We know the weapon must be taken out of Rivendell. My biggest fear is that you will be the one to do it, and with this task will surely come many risks.”

Glorfindel rolled onto his side and studied Erestor’s face, “Meldanya, if I am asked, I must accept.”

“And if you are not asked?” Erestor wondered, “Will you promise me that if you are not asked—”

Glorfindel sighed deep and touched Erestor’s chin, stifling his words, “You know I can make no such promise.” The elf lord kissed Erestor then, a long and lingering kiss. “Let us hear out the council first. There are many others with concerns and questions. We do not yet know the outcome.”

This was not the answer Erestor was looking for. He wanted to tell Glorfindel that he forbade him to leave or volunteer with whatever the council might decide, but he could not do that. Glorfindel was a leader, a warrior, an ancient elf born in Valinor. He had seen evil rise and fall many times throughout his life. He had seen it change faces from one foe to the next. It only made sense to send Glorfindel to complete any tasks that might arise, but Erestor wished he wouldn’t. He nodded and smiled halfheartedly, but remained silent.

The discussion was becoming too serious and a little uncomfortable. Erestor turned to face Glorfindel, and gazed into the blue forever of his eyes. Fin was right, of course. It was better to wait and see what happened at Elrond’s council, and for that reason, Erestor did not pursue this anymore. Instead, he reached for a golden strand of Glorfindel’s hair, tickling his lover’s nose, and bringing their attention back to the present. “So, are you going to show me the drawing? After all, that’s what started this, and I’d like to know what it is you see that lures you into such a desirous mood.”

“It’s simply seeing you—anywhere and in any form—that encourages my appetite, Meldanya,” Glorfindel responded, “And once the bones have hardened again in my legs, I shall retrieve the drawing and show you.”

“Don’t bother with it. I’d rather you stayed where you were,” Erestor said with a smile, the meaning running much deeper than was intended.

“Perhaps we shall be turned to stone and remain here forever,” Glorfindel joshed, as his finger traced the outline of Erestor’s pebbling nipples.

“Keep touching me like that, and I know something that will definitely turn to stone,” Erestor responded, and he pushed himself against Glorfindel’s hip.

“Why, Counselor, I do believe you have a wicked side.”

“That’s our little secret, hmm?” Erestor growled in Glorfindel’s ear before caressing him with a pointed tongue.

It would be late morning before either elf emerged from Glorfindel’s home.

* * *

The day of Elrond’s secret council had finally arrived. It started out like any other crisp autumn morning, not the kind of day one would expect when confronting the questionable future of all the free people of Middle-earth. Erestor thought it might have been easier to discuss the current situation had it been dark and gloomy. No one had told the sun not to shine, or the birds not to sing. All of nature was oblivious to the serious matter at hand, and Erestor felt a ping of jealously towards their unintentional disregard. 

The guests were all seated … men, dwarves and elves all strategically placed in a half circle. Elrond walked out onto the veranda followed by Erestor and Glorfindel. They took their places at the head of the circle and the meeting began.

The discussions were common to start with, introductions and such. The man from Gondor seemed to keep to himself and listen to the others. The dwarves were … well, being themselves, eyeing everyone with suspicion, but none more than the Mirkwood elves. It was no secret of the love lost between those two races … if there had been any to begin with. The feud went back many years, back to when the dwarves still inhabited Erebor, before the destruction and desolation by the dragon.

The dwarves were not the only ones eyeing the elves of Mirkwood. Aragorn, foster son of Elrond, Dunedain Ranger, and heir to the throne of Gondor, kept glancing at Legolas, then away as though he knew something the others did not. Erestor watched this display carefully. Something had escaped his preparation perhaps. Had Aragorn discovered the affair between the two elf guards? No, Erestor concluded. The man never acknowledged them, only Legolas. The Mirkwood Prince remained unemotional, but Erestor could see the blue eyes dart to Aragorn from time to time. Whatever had occurred, it would come out soon, and no sooner had he thought that, when Legolas took his turn to speak.

Legolas told of a creature that had been captured and entrusted to Mirkwood for safekeeping until the wizard Gandalf could interrogate him, and find out what he knew of Sauron and the weapon. Legolas reported that the elves—who felt sorry for the creature, Gollum—allowed him a bit of supervised freedom, and were attacked by orcs. Because of this, Gollum was taken into the hands of the enemy. It was an unfortunate setback in Gandalf’s plans, and Legolas took full responsibility for the blunder.

Erestor watched as Legolas kept his composure, but he could not hide the regret and sorrow in his eyes. The counselor leaned towards Glorfindel, and whispered, “Legolas was involved with this, wasn’t he?”

Glorfindel lowered his eyes away from the Mirkwood elves, “He was in charge of the guards who watched Gollum. He gave permission to allow the creature a bit of fresh air. Some of Legolas’ men were killed that day, and he feels responsible for their deaths.”

“Oh,” Erestor said sadly. He hadn’t known that much about the incident. “What a terrible burden to carry.”

“Thranduil should never have given him that much control. Legolas is young yet. His heart is still tender, and he felt sorry for the creature. Personally, I believe it was all part of Gollum’s plan to escape … not the orcs, of course. Now, Legolas feels he has disgraced his father.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel nodded, “The Prince came to me for advice. You see, his father relieved him of his duties after it happened, and put Legolas’ brother in charge. He told the Prince he must make things right, and start by telling Elrond in person about the escaped prisoner. Legolas worries about what will happen when he returns home. His father can be quite strict with his sons. Legolas made a poor decision, though he made it out of the goodness of his kind heart. I can’t help but feel sorry for him. It’s quite a difficult lesson to learn for such a young ellon.”

Erestor became suspicious of Glorfindel’s tone as he finished speaking. The elf lord was planning to do something to help save Legolas further embarrassment, but what that was Erestor was unsure.

The meeting progressed until Elrond turned his attention to the hobbit, Frodo, who had sat silently next to Gandalf, looking weary and confused. Frodo snapped to attention at the mention of his name, and came forward. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a ring, laying it on a marble table for all to look upon.

A hushed gasp fell across the veranda. Every eye was trained on the small golden trinket. Erestor couldn’t help but notice how simple of a thing it was. Plain and smooth, the golden ring hardly looked like something that could destroy Middle-earth.

“The ring of Sauron,” Elrond announced quietly, “Don’t let its appearance fool you. It is a very powerful weapon, and the dark lord will not stop searching for it. His will is bent towards it, and it answers his call.”

“Then why is he not here now?” one of the dwarves asked.

“He does not know where it is. To Sauron, the ring is still lost, but should it come into his possession again, he will be the most powerful being in Middle-earth. No one will escape his wrath. While it is still lost, though, it is up to us to decide what to do with it so that the dark lord never finds it.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence and pondered the situation. To Erestor’s surprise, it was Boromir, the Captain of Gondor, who made the first suggestion, that the ring should go with him back to Gondor where he and his men could wield it against the enemy. Aragorn rebutted, pointing out the fact that it could not be controlled by anyone other than Sauron. Elrond backed up this statement, saying that the only way to ensure everyone’s safety was to destroy the ring, and that they were here to decide how it should be done.

Many ideas were tossed around of how to go about this. Then Glorfindel stood and remarked, “It should be taken by one of us and thrown into the fires of Mount Doom. That is the only way. It must be destroyed from whence it was forged.”

One of the dwarves jumped to his feet and said angrily, “And I suppose you think it should be you?”

Erestor watched and waited for Glorfindel to answer. Glorfindel ignored the dwarf, and looked straight at Erestor as he answered, “Yes, I do.”

“Fin, no,” Erestor whispered, but Glorfindel went on.

“There are nine Nazgûl who constantly search for the ring. They will destroy anything and anyone who stands in the way of their task, but fear me they do. I believe the ring would be safe under my protection.”

Erestor wracked his brain for another solution, “Well, you … you could take it to Tom Bombadil. Surely he could use his magic to hide it away where it cannot be discovered.”

At this point, Frodo spoke up, “I have met Tom Bombadil, and I can assure you he will not take the ring.”

“Tom Bombadil would misplace it first,” added Gandalf, “He is a foolhardy soul who means well, but cannot be trusted to stay the course.”

“Then take it out to sea, and drop it in the fathomless depths where it can never be found,” Erestor pleaded, desperate for a different answer than the one Glorfindel suggested.

Individual arguments broke out over what to do with the ring. Boromir disagreed with Aragorn and the twins. The dwarves argued with the Mirkwood elves. Erestor stood silently and regarded Glorfindel, ignoring the individual altercations surrounding him. No one was paying him any attention now, and continued his personal conversation, “All I am saying is that there must be another way. Why must it be you? Why must it always be you?”

Glorfindel defended his suggestion, “I have had dealings with the Nazgûl before. They will not come near me. They know me, they know my story, and they fear the power that the Valar has bestowed upon me.”

“But do you know what you are suggesting? Walking into Mordor is suicide. You are not invincible, Glorfindel. The Valar gave you a second chance at life. They will not give you a third.”

Glorfindel angered and stood face to face with Erestor, “They gave me new life, yes, but without a purpose. They brought me back from death, and told me my task was not complete, but they did not tell me what my task was. Do you know what it is like to always wonder why? Why was I spared and my fallen brothers were not? You were not there, Erestor. You did not see how brave my men were, how they stood with me and died around me. It was my destiny to slay that balrog, to join my brothers in Mandos hall, but I was brought back, and they were not. The harsh reality wracked me with guilt for years, but to always wonder when I would finally carry out my last task has sometimes been torture. So yes … yes I say I will take the ring, for this may be the reason I was given another life, one that I sometimes think I do not deserve.”

“How can you say this to me?” Erestor said, hurt by Glorfindel’s admission. “You would rather know your task and die than to stay with me and let me love you forever. Is this what you want?”

“I just want to know why I was chosen and when my debt will be paid,” answered Glorfindel.

“And why must this debt be paid in death? Maybe you have already accomplished your repayment. Maybe you live, Fin. Maybe this … us … you and me … maybe this is your reward.”

“If it is, then why have I not been told? Why do I still feel as if there is something more I must do?”

Erestor took a step back and glared at Glorfindel, “I am sorry you feel that way, because I think you are my purpose at life. I allowed your love into my heart, and I’ve never felt so complete. But I guess you cannot say the same.”

“That is not what I am saying. Erestor, just listen to me a moment and let me—”

Their conversation, as well as the surrounding arguments, was interrupted by a dark and devious voice. The black speech of Mordor thundered in their ears. The very ground beneath their feet shook. The veil of safety that had always covered Rivendell was suddenly stripped away and all were vulnerable.

Not until Gandalf interrupted, countering the evil voice, did it quiet and still. The shadow that blanketed the veranda disappeared as the wizard chased away the despair with his magical words. But it was too late. Everyone at the meeting had been touched by the voice of Sauron, and fear stuck in their hearts.

Then, through the silence, a small voice called out and declared, “I will take it. I will take the ring.”

Frodo now stood next to the marble stand, staring at the ring and stated, “I will take the ring and destroy it. Bilbo found it and kept it all these years, but he has gifted it to me. Now it is my burden to bear. ”

No one had considered this before, and slowly everyone came to the same conclusion. Frodo was the only one that anyone trusted, but he could not do it alone. After some discussion, Elrond agreed and decided that the hobbit should be accompanied to carry out this task. Aragorn volunteered first, as did Boromir, on behalf of Men.

Erestor felt Glorfindel’s gaze upon him, but he would not give acknowledgement. He already knew what the elf lord would choose to do. There was no reason to plead anymore. Glorfindel would represent the elves on this excursion, and he would most likely never come home again.

“I will go,” Glorfindel finally said, but there was no answer from Lord Elrond. Erestor lifted his eyes to see what was happening.

Elrond stepped towards Glorfindel and rested his hand on the warrior’s shoulder, “I knew you would, but I cannot accept your offer.”

“I don’t understand,” said Glorfindel, confused by Elrond’s refusal.

“It has nothing to do with your abilities. You are probably the most capable of all of us, but it is what you said that makes me refuse. The Nazgûl know you quite well, Glorfindel, and if they see you with this group of travelers, they will suspect something right away. Secrecy will guarantee success with this mission. You shine too brightly, my friend, and you would put Frodo and the others at great risk.”

“I will go for the elves,” Legolas announced as he came forward. The two guards that accompanied him looked stunned and tried to protest, but Legolas stopped them, “No, I must do this, and who else here can represent our race.”

Elrond silently conferred with Glorfindel, who nodded in agreement. Then Lord Elrond turned to Legolas and accepted his offer.

A moment later, Gimli the dwarf, son of Glóin, jumped from his chair and stood next to his rival, Legolas, declaring participation and representation for the dwarves. He looked up and glared smartly at Legolas, who rolled his eyes in return.

There was another disruption as the remainder of the hobbits jumped out from the bushes, demanding that they must go with Frodo. Erestor saw his chance to leave the council while Elrond and the other advisors were busy finalizing the members of the traveling party. Glorfindel was speaking with Legolas, and was distracted, so Erestor slipped quietly away. He was disappointed with Glorfindel and his reasoning. He did not think it was wise to speak with him any further until he’d had a chance to sort things out. Once again, Glorfindel put his need for involvement and danger above their relationship. He didn’t want to, but Erestor started to toy with the idea that this companionship was not meant to be.

“When will it be enough?” he whispered to himself as he strolled through the grounds, “When will my love ever be enough for him?”


	6. Gone But Not Forgotten

For the first time, Glorfindel did not seek Erestor out after yet another argument. He had come to expect the elf lord to show himself after they both had time to cool themselves. This time Erestor had found himself in the gardens, alone. Across the garden was a tunnel of trellises adorned with deciduous vines. Usually the leaves grew thick, but now that the vines were devoid of their foliage, Erestor could see past them, to a wooden bridge that connected the community buildings with the residential homes. There he could just make out a tall gilded figure, leaning against the railing, facing one of the many waterfalls that flowed within the valley. The counselor watched Glorfindel a moment. He was unmoving, seemingly deep in thought or memory. It did not look like he needed company just now, but Erestor knew he was the reason that Glorfindel was revisiting his ghosts once again.

Erestor thought of what Glorfindel had said at the meeting, about the Valar, the guilt of being re-embodied, and his purpose. Fin had mentioned these things before, though in passing, waving Erestor off when he tried inquired further.

“It’s nothing,” Glorfindel had said. Obviously, it was something, and it had stuck with him all these long years.

“How foolish of me to push him like that,” Erestor told himself, “But I was just looking for a better solution to the problem that would not involve him.”

While at the secret council, Erestor couldn’t help the feelings that overcame him … selfishness, greed, rage, and fear. He suddenly wanted Glorfindel all for himself, and damn all the others who looked to him for help. Let them find someone else to save the world. Glorfindel belonged to him.

“It was the ring, you know,” someone said from behind, startling Erestor from his thoughts.

He turned to find Elladan smiling at him, arms crossed and leaning against a tree. “Elladan, I did not hear you enter the garden.”

“So deep in thought were you, I do not think you would have heard the Kine of Araw charging up behind you,” Elladan laughed, “Luckily it is only me.”

“Yes, lucky me,” Erestor said dryly.

“Oh, come now, my friend, what is it that has made you sour?” asked Elladan, but he did not give the counselor a chance to answer. “Wait, don’t tell me. You and Glorfindel have had another one of your tiffs. I swear, you two argue more than the dwarves do with the Mirkwood elves, and that is saying quite a bit.”

Erestor ignored him, “What was it you were saying about the ring?”

Elladan could sense Erestor’s avoidance, and decided it best to let him be, “I was saying that it was the ring that made everyone agitated during Father’s meeting. It’s not just a piece of jewelry. It is a very powerful thing, able to bend people’s wills, make them think unclearly or feel negatively. Just to have it in one’s possession is a very dangerous thing. Gandalf cannot even touch it for fear of being overcome by greed and power. So do not question your thoughts or actions. Very likely you were not in control of them in that moment.”

Erestor smiled, accepting his friend’s advice, but he said nothing about it. “So, where is your brother?”

“He’s talking to Aragorn and Father. Before leaving Imladris, Aragorn wants to scout the area, just to make sure no one was followed, and that it is safe to begin their journey.”

“Very wise,” said Erestor. He looked towards the bridge again, but Glorfindel was gone. “Who all will be going, do you know?”

“You’ll have to ask Glorfindel if he is going. That is what you are asking, is it not?”

“I’m not so sure he’ll want to speak with me so soon. I left him at the council and came here. Neither am I sure that the ring had everything to do with my feelings. I think it may have enhanced the ones that I already had,” Erestor admitted. He went to a bench and took a seat. Elladan joined him, and they sat in silence for a few moments before Erestor continued, “Has Glorfindel ever spoken to you about those first years after his re-embodiment?”

Elladan shook his head, “As far as I know, he’s never spoken to anyone about that time. And, of course, no one would dare ask. It must have been a very personal experience though.”

“I think I may have opened up an old wound then.”

Elladan patted Erestor’s shoulder, “Talk to him. Don’t let this dark magic turn you against each other.”

Erestor gave his friend a half smile, “I will.”

“Good … now, I must be off to find Elrohir, and see what he has volunteered us for,” Elladan laughed. “You go find Fin and settle this argument. I don’t like it when the two of you fight.”

* * *

Erestor found Glorfindel in the mural room, Gandalf speaking to him in a whispered voice. They were standing in front of a painting that depicted Isildur in battle, wielding the broken sword of his father, the one that had cut the ring from Sauron’s finger. Glorfindel gave no inclination of Erestor’s presence, but Gandalf had seen the counselor enter the room. Erestor turned to leave, but the grey wizard slipped his hand out of his robe and made a gesture for him to stay. Erestor remained by the entryway and waited. Gandalf laid his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, finished speaking and quietly walked away. As he passed Erestor, he simply smiled and nodded his head.

Erestor stayed where he was, and let the room remain silent as he gazed upon his companion. He hoped that Glorfindel would speak first. He always had before, but not this time.

“It seems more like a faerie tale to see it drawn on the wall like that, but now the story has come to life. The ring is no longer just an object in a painting. It is real,” said Erestor.

“It has always been real,” answered Glorfindel, “It has always been a threat. It was just a matter of time before it resurfaced.”

“Gone, but not forgotten, you could say.”

Glorfindel nodded, “Remembered by a few, but a very powerful few, each one hoping for a different fate.”

Erestor felt they were not speaking about the ring anymore and switched tactics, “I must apologize for my behavior earlier.”

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder, allowing a partial smile, “It is alright. None of us were quite ourselves.”

“You felt it too then … the chaos, the maelstrom?”

“I did … and then some.”

“Care to elaborate?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, and released it slowly. His hesitance made Erestor feel as though he was overstepping his bounds. He felt so comfortable with Fin that he sometimes forgot they were still learning about each other. “Forget that I asked. I should not—”

Glorfindel cut him off, “There was a time when I was unsure of my life … my second life that is. I was very desolate then. It is something I never wanted to experience again, but today I was forced to see visions of myself. The darkness seemed to speak to me individually.”

Erestor had felt the same thing during Elrond’s council, as if someone knew his thoughts and forced him to project them aloud. Whatever the elf lord experienced, it must have been more visual. He took up his place beside Glorfindel, and shook his head slowly from side to side, “It is much too private, much too personal. Some things are not meant to be shared.”

“I have never told anyone about that time, no one,” Glorfindel’s voice was a little hard, and he paused, turning his head to look at Erestor, “but I feel compelled to tell you. I think I could tell you anything, and I’d be healed of my personal convictions.”

“I’m always there for you. You know that.”

Glorfindel’s countenance softened with a smile, as he leaned forward and kissed Erestor’s cheek. The moment passed quickly, and the warrior, again engulfed in his past, turned to face the mural once more.

“It was after my re-embodiment, and my mind was a blur. It’s not a feeling that I would wish upon anyone. I was like a blank page, thousands of them, actually. I was an empty book, everything forgotten. It took a very long time to fill back in, if you can understand. I was whole, but still empty, wiser, but unknowledgeable, weakened by my own strength … very strange indeed. And when I could finally think clearly, my only question was why. Why was I allowed life, a second chance? I had almost wished to claw my way back to the Halls of Mandos. At least there, I knew exactly who I was, or who I had been.

They answered me, finally … the Valar. They said it was because of my unselfish acts of valor in Gondolin that I was sent back, because of my reluctance at the Exile of the Noldor, because I played no part in the kinslaying. The elves of Valinor called me a hero, but I did not feel as such. I had done what I was trained to do, but I was not the only one who fought against the enemy, or chose not to cross the wastelands of the Helecaraxë. So, why was I chosen? There were others who fought just as bravely and died. My spirit sat with theirs in the Halls of Mandos, brothers we were, yet I was sent back and they were not. What about Astarion? He sacrificed himself to allow me a chance of escape. Were his actions any less deserving of another chance?

I was taken by guilt. I should be there with them, I thought, doomed to wait with my brothers until the end of time. My guilt gave way to anger. Anger turned to abandonment. Eventually, abandonment turned to shame, shame for questioning the Valar’s reasons for my salvation. I decided to live in isolation for a while. If the Valar had a mission for me to carry out then I would wait in solitude until that time … if I was still worthy of their gift. I had defied those who gave me a second chance, questioned their abilities. Perhaps my revival should have been retracted. I would gladly have spent eternity in the Halls of Waiting.

Instead, I walked the lands of Valinor in darkness, it seemed, never knowing where I was going. It was a lonely existence, but one I had brought upon myself … one that I had no notion of acquitting myself from . My only redemption was the Maia Orólin, whom I eventually befriended.”

“Gandalf?” Erestor questioned, speaking for the first time since Glorfindel began his story.

“Yes, I knew him in the early years,” Glorfindel continued, “He reassured me that the Valar would bestow upon me my mission, my reason for revivification. He introduced me to other Maia, who I befriended, and through their kindness and enlightenment, I came out of my depression. They taught me to rechannel my negativity, to accept my gift, and to realize that I was chosen to represent those who could not return. It was Gandalf who told me this was not a punishment, but an opportunity to set things right where others might have failed.”

“Gandalf is very wise indeed,” Erestor commented as he thought of the old grey wizard.

Glorfindel turned to Erestor, and took up his hand, “All that pain and anger, the guilt and desperation came back to me earlier, just as strongly as it had existed before. I thought for sure this was my mission, to carry the ring into Mordor and destroy it in the fires. I would have thrown myself in with it if I thought it would save Middle-earth … and you.”

“And all that I could see was a life without you not worth living,” said Erestor, squeezing Glorfindel’s hand.

Glorfindel closed the distance between them, kissing Erestor on the forehead, the nose and gently on the lips. Then he smiled to his dark haired lover, “You will not have to know what that is like. I am not going anywhere.”

Just then, Elrohir entered the room, cleared his throat, and backed into the shadows when he saw he was interrupting.

“What is it, Elrohir?” Glorfindel asked from across the room, his eyes never leaving Erestor.

“I apologize, I do not mean to interfere, but Aragorn sent me to tell you that we leave first thing tomorrow morning,” Elrohir informed. Then he slipped out of the room without waiting for a response.

Erestor raised a questioning brow, “Not going anywhere?”

“Well, nowhere permanent,” Glorfindel explained with quick wit.

Erestor could not resist smiling, “I already knew you would join the scouting party. The mighty gilded warrior could not pass up the opportunity to scout for enemies.”

Glorfindel laughed, and then kissed Erestor solidly on the lips, “You still have the entire evening to give me a proper farewell.”

They kissed once again, but when they separated, Erestor stepped back, a look of concern on his face, “What will you do, Fin, once Frodo and the others have started their journey?”

Glorfindel looked at the mural again, “Wait, I suppose, until I am needed somewhere. Sauron knows the ring is close. He has seen glimpses of its whereabouts. That is why he has employed the Nazgûl, and they will not stop until they have found it. War is coming. It is inevitable. See?” He looked towards the pedestal that held the remnants of the broken sword from the mural. It was empty.

“Narsil?” Erestor asked confused.

“Elrond has had it remade. Aragorn claims his birthright to the throne of Gondor. Sauron has feared this. He will not go without a fight.” 

“And so it begins,” Erestor said sadly.

“The battle for Middle-earth,” Glorfindel whispered as though he were a million miles away.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the scouting party left the city. Erestor immersed himself in the library, as well as his duties as chief counselor. There had been a few times when it was difficult to keep the peace between some of the guests, mainly the dwarves and whomever they decided they did not agree with. For the most part, everyone went about their business amicably.

It was the old hobbit, Bilbo, who suggested songs and poetry as a means to ease everyone’s minds. He had been working on a particular song with Aragorn before he left, and was anxious to let everyone hear it. The thing about Bilbo’s songs was that they tended to be more like stories, and the verses could go on for quite some time. The elves enjoyed this, though the dwarves were likely to leave early in the evening. Two of the younger hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, suggested they should have a feast and wine in order to keep the dwarves as longtime guests of the party. Erestor thought this was a wonderful idea, and Elrond agreed. And so, the dinner hall was turned into the hobbits version of a favorite haunt of theirs back in the Shire, a place known as the Green Dragon.

The tables were arranged into long rows, one on each side of the hall, and the center left open for dancing. Erestor suggested making a platform where singers and poets could recite their talents, but Frodo laughed and said that wouldn’t be necessary. Erestor wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but this was an occasion hosted by the hobbits, and he would not argue about the decorating.

Rivendell was alive and buzzing with activity as everyone did their part to prepare for the party. The kitchens were at maximum capacity with cooks, all making their specialties, as well as a few treats that they knew to be favorites of the hobbits. The scents that wafted from their buildings were divine.

A few elves were pulling carts that carried small barrels of wine for the occasion. Erestor met them at the bridge and stopped to let them pass. His brows rose in surprise as he observed some of the dwarves following, carrying three fat barrels of their own. As they went by, one of the dwarves stopped and bowed politely to Erestor.

“Gimli, at your service,” stated the dwarf, as he stood straight.

Erestor glanced at the barrels that the other dwarves carried, “Did you bring these all the way to Rivendell?”

“Of course! Dwarves never show up empty handed if it can’t be helped, and it is not polite to drink another man’s brew without sharing some of our own,” said Gimli, as if Erestor should already know that. “Some of our finest ale, too. I hope you will find it to your liking.”

“Oh, I’m sure that I will,” Erestor said politely.

Gimli looked left and then right, and then gestured to Erestor to bend down to his height. He whispered, “Perhaps you’ll join me in a contest later … my ale against your wine?”

Erestor smiled kindly, “Perhaps.”

Gimli backed up a step and stood straight again, “Good! Very good!” he boasted, and went on his way.

Erestor watched Gimli walk off with his companions and shook his head. “I wonder who he means to drink what?” he wondered to himself.

* * *

Later that evening, the party was well under way. The dwarves did indeed suffer Bilbo’s song in exchange for free-flowing alcohol afterwards. They did not care much for the wine, but they had their ale and were just as happy. The hobbits, too, seemed to enjoy the dwarves strong brew, and soon Erestor realized what Frodo found so funny about hobbits needing a stage to perform on. Merry and Pippin seemed quite inebriated, but still in control of themselves, and very lively. They each had a full mug in their hands, jumped upon the closest table, and began singing their favorite tavern songs, as they performed a humorous jig.

Erestor was enjoying himself immensely, clapping to the fast-paced music and laughing at the hobbits boisterous words, when Gimli plopped down on the chair next to him. He set two mugs down on the table in front of Erestor and gave the elf a mischievous wink.

“So, are you up for it?” Gimli smiled behind his thick beard.

“Oh, well I’m not so sure I should—”

“Of course he is,” said Lastar, who had seen Gimli approach Erestor.

Erestor heard the challenge in Lastar’s voice, “Alright then, I’ll give it a go, but only if Lastar can join the contest.”

Gimli’s bushy brows shot up, “Two against one, is that how it is? Ha! I accept.” He ran off to fetch another mug.

Erestor eyed Lastar speculatively, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been drinking wine all night, and I’m not sure about mixing my alcohols.”

“That makes two of us then,” Lastar answered with a sly smile spread across his lips, “but I figure it was time that we opened ourselves to the experiment.”

Erestor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “I believe this is a side of you I’ve never witnessed before.”

Lastar reached out and laid a hand over Erestor’s arm, “There is much you do not know about me, Counselor.”

Lastar was Erestor’s assistant, and beyond work in the libraries, they hadn’t spent much time together. Ever since the fine youth had admitted his feelings towards Erestor, they tended to maintain a professional relationship without much personal knowledge. But, there had been no further events, and they had become quite relaxed in each other’s company.

Erestor proceeded with caution, though. He knew it was not simple to sever one’s feelings, especially unrequited longing, and the tone in Lastar’s voice indicated that his had not yet vanished. “Yes … well,” he went on, ignoring Lastar’s suggestiveness, “We seem to be in the dwarves good graces. No need to spoil it, and I think we can humor them for a bit.”

Gimli came back, smiling and laughing, with another mug and someone to carry a small keg, “Now,” he began seriously, “usually a contest is won by whoever is left standing, but we did not bring that much ale. So tonight we’ll just say, whoever is last to slur their words. Agreed?”

“That seems fair,” said Lastar.

“Very well then,” Erestor concurred.

Gimli handed them their drinks, “Mugs up, my fine elvish sirs, and may the best one talk straight.”

The dwarf attacked his mug with gusto, but Erestor and Lastar inspected theirs first. Lastar shrugged his shoulders, “Luck, Counselor.”

* * *

Erestor had lost count of time and mugs. For the most part, he felt unaffected by either wine or ale—with the barrel running low, they decided to switch back and forth between the heady elvish red and the deep amber ale. After each glass, they would each say a sentence. Erestor had had no problem reciting a line from a favorite poem. Then, out of nowhere, he felt his head start to reel. This was very unusual, as alcohol had little or no effect on him. Lastar had handed him his last two glasses of wine, and was handing him another. Erestor began to feel a bit queasy, and held his hand up to refuse another glass.

“I kn-knew I should not drix minks,” he stuttered and shook his head, “I mean mix drinks.”

“Oh, ho ho!” Gimli laughed aloud, “Seems you are the first one out Counselor. And how ‘bout you, my young friend?” he said, turning his attention to Lastar.

“I’m afraid I forfeit. The counselor seems to have had a bit too much, and I should not like to reach the same conclusion. Someone will need to see him home,” Lastar said, whispering the last sentence.

“A shame really … I think you could have held out much longer. It would be a nice challenge to beat you,” said Gimli, as he tried to get Lastar to stay.

“Perhaps you should invite the Mirkwood Prince to your challenge. I understand his system is quite tolerable,” Lastar mentioned.

Gimli knitted his bushy brows, and glanced over his shoulder to where Legolas stood, “Bah! I’ll not share my good ale with the likes. Never trust an elf.”

“I should be offended by that remark, Gimli, son of Gloin,” Lastar rebutted. 

“Let me rephrase that,” Gimli said, looking a bit embarrassed, “Never trust a Mirkwood elf. I meant no offence to you or Erestor. Imladris has been very gracious and accommodating.”

“It’s alright, Gimli,” Erestor said, his stomach finally calming, “But I sug-suggest you and Prince Le-Legolas find a common gr-ground. ‘Tis a long way to where you’re headed.”

Gimli only glared at Erestor. Then he looked at Lastar, “I think you better get him home quickly. He’s speaking nonsense.”

Lastar smiled and hid a laugh, “Very well. Thank you for the ale and the entertainment.”

Gimli bowed, “At your service.”

Erestor hardly remembered walking home, but he was there now, and so was Lastar. The room was spinning, and he felt rather nauseous. Lastar had been in the kitchen, and was bringing a tray with two cups of tea. He set it on the table and had a seat next to Erestor on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Lastar asked.

“Like I’m falling from a cliff and there is no bottom,” Erestor responded irritated. He grabbed his head with both hands and closed his eyes, “Ai, that makes it worse.” Then he opened one eye and peered at Lastar. “Why are you not affected as I am?”

“I would not say that. Dwarvish ale can be quite potent. I am definitely affected,” Lastar said smoothly. He leaned forward and prepared their tea.

“Oh? How so?” Erestor asked dryly.

Lastar looked over his shoulder, giving Erestor a sensuous stare, “I would tell you, but you would have me thrown from your home.”

“Oh,” Erestor responded, his assistant’s meaning not registering at first. Then it started to sink in. “Oh,” Erestor said a little anxiously.

Lastar straightened and turned, a cup of tea in each hand, “Relax, Counselor. For one, I know you are madly in love with Glorfindel. And for another, even if you weren’t taken, I’m afraid you are too drunk to fuck, and I’d not have you that way.” He held a cup out to Erestor. “Tea?”

“Please,” Erestor said desperately, anything for a diversion from the way the conversation was going.

They sat silently and sipped their tea. Erestor’s head was already beginning to feel better. “This is quite good … and you found this in my kitchen?”

“It is a combination. Good to cure the effects of too much wine … and ale it seems.”

They sat through another bout of silence and sipped their tea. Finally, Lastar sat his cup down, turned towards Erestor and folded his hands on his knees, “Can I speak openly with you?”

“You’ve managed that quite easily so far this evening.”

Lastar laughed under his breath and continued, “Had I approached you sooner, before Glorfindel, would you have considered me?”

Normally, Erestor would avoid answering such a thing. Lastar was his assistant, and though they had a close working relationship, the counselor was uncomfortable talking to him about personal issues. Tonight, with the wine and the ale swirling through his blood, he threw caution aside. Lastar knew he was deeply involved with Glorfindel, and maybe he owed an answer to the young elf. Erestor bravely met Lastar’s eyes, “I’ll admit that when you first came to me looking for a position as my assistant, I took notice of you. Had you not been looking for employment, I might have … approached you.”

“But you did not,” said Lastar sadly.

“No I did not. I could not. You were coming to work for me, and I never become involved with someone who I employ. It is bad business. People might talk, and that was no way for you to start your career.”

“I would not have accepted the job had I had known,” Lastar said smiling.

“And I might not have argued your decision,” Erestor answered carefully. It was true, Erestor found Lastar to be flawlessly beautiful with his raven hair and alabaster skin, his sensuously long neck and generous lips. Lastar was a bit younger than he liked, but he seemed eager to learn, and Erestor could have taught him about more than the qualifications of a scribe.

“So, there was a chance then?” Lastar asked.

“Once upon a time, yes, but now—”

“I know,” the young ellon chimed in.

Erestor felt for Lastar, but he wished he would stop pining and move on, find another ellon who could return his feelings. The counselor could see that the youth’s heart still burned for something he could never have. There was nothing Erestor could do to change that. Only time would repair his pain for unreturned love, and hopefully they could look back and chuckle over the situation.

The conversation turned to the news of the newly formed Fellowship and Legolas’ offer to go in place of Glorfindel. This was still a bit of a fresh wound in Erestor’s side, but it felt good to talk about it.

“And what would you do if he had gone?” Lastar asked, “Even after you pleaded with him not to go.”

“I would not have liked it. I would have stewed in my anger, cursing the day I let him into my heart,” Erestor answered boldly, but his tone softened, “But I would have welcomed him home with open arms.”

Lastar kept his vision focused on his cup, which he had refilled and sipped on during their conversation, “I hope to find that kind of devotion one day.”

“You will, Lastar. Not only are you beautiful, but you are intelligent and kind,” Erestor encouraged.

The night was getting late, and Erestor was feeling much better. Lastar stood to go and Erestor followed him to the door. As Lastar passed him, he stopped, “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but sometimes I think you are much too good for Glorfindel. I should hope he knows how lucky he is.”

Erestor thought of something witty to say in return, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Lastar captured his lips and kissed him solidly. In the confusion, Erestor did not pull away. Shock kept him from moving at all. Lastar released him, and ran his tongue across his own lips in a wanton manner. Then he seemed to blush, the pale pink complimenting his fair features, “I’m sorry. I did not intend to do that. I mean, I’ve always wanted to, but I would never have acted upon it. I’m still a bit muddled from the wine, otherwise I’d never—”

With the blood still pulsing in Erestor’s lips, he managed a smile, “Go home, Lastar. Sleep off the effects of the wine. I’ll see you tomorrow. We have some letters to transcribe.”

Lastar nodded, still embarrassed, “Yes, Counselor.” He walked out the door.

“And Lastar … this cannot happen again, nor shall I appreciate it if you mention this to anyone.”

“I understand,” Lastar said and slipped into the darkness, “Good night.”

Erestor closed his door and leaned against it. He touched his fingers to his lips, “Ai, hurry home Fin.”


	7. Dark Dream

The scouting party returned a month later with good news for all. The lands around Rivendell were clear of enemies. It would be safe for the newly formed Fellowship to leave soon. There were many miles and many perils ahead of them, but they had some of the best people anyone could ask for. They would not travel by horse, but had with them one small pony, Bill, packed with as many supplies as he could carry.

And so, at the break of dawn, on a brisk day in late December, nine companions left Rivendell, the fate of Middle-earth carried in the hands of the hobbit, Frodo.

“Do you think they will be back?” asked Erestor as he stood at the edge of one of the many patios that overlooked the valley. Glorfindel was next to him, and they both watched the travelers make their way along the path that led out of the city. With the leaves fallen from the trees, they could see where the path wound its way to the main gate. Gandalf and Frodo led the way, followed by Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin, Boromir, Sam with the pony, and at the end, Aragorn.

“We can only pray they do,” answered Glorfindel, as his hand came to rest on Erestor’s waist.

At least for now, Erestor felt reassured by Fin’s presence, but there was no telling when this contentment might be torn apart.

Over the next few weeks, they spent their time as they normally would, Erestor in the libraries and Glorfindel on the training grounds. War was imminent, but as to where and when, that was still a mystery. Every elf able to fight might be called upon eventually, and they must all be prepared. It was for this reason that a few times a week, Erestor and Glorfindel took to the practice grounds, alone, and worked on their swordplay. Erestor had always maintained a certain amount of practice, but it was more of a hobby. Glorfindel helped him hone in on his skills.

“You do know this means nothing,” commented Glorfindel as they were leaving the training grounds one late afternoon.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’? You heard Lord Elrond. Every elf capable of—”

“Not you,” said Glorfindel sternly.

“Of course me!” Erestor retaliated, “I am an elf, and I am capable. If called upon, I will fight. I do not need your permission.” He rounded on his mate with narrowed eyes, “Do you not think I can fight?”

“You are a worthy opponent, meldanya,” Glorfindel admitted and the corner of Erestor’s mouth twisted with pride. Glorfindel continued, “. . . on the practice field anyways.”

“I resent that statement,” said Erestor angrily. “You know I have fought in wartime.”

“Yes, but many years have passed since then, and your strengths now lie within the libraries.” Glorfindel grabbed Erestor by the wrists and twisted them so that his palms faced upwards. “These are not the hands of a warrior,” said Glorfindel. Then he lifted one to his lips and kissed Erestor’s knuckles, “These are the hands of a scholar, smooth and unmarred. I should never like to see them used in combat.” He then took Erestor’s hand, lowered it, and cupped it to his groin, “Unless it is combat in the bedroom.”

Erestor squeezed tighter than normal, making Glorfindel tense by reflex, “You are a fiend, do you know that?” Erestor denoted. He released his lover, and continued walking, leaving the elf lord behind. Glorfindel followed his tread and matched his strides. Once he had caught up, Erestor continued, “Besides, it is not callouses on the hand that makes a warrior. It’s knowing how to wield the blade when it is necessary.”

Glorfindel smiled mischievously, taking the comment as an innuendo. Erestor rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean. Do not try to change the subject.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” mumbled the elf lord.

“Hopeless,” huffed Erestor, but he couldn’t help let a smile escape. Glorfindel always managed to see the humor in a situation.

They walked along the pathways, strolling through the city. Erestor sniffed the air. Snow threatened in the distance. Winter always turned Rivendell into a mystical wonderland with snow blanketing the valley, and ice forming around the edges of the waterfalls frozen in motion. And he would revel in the warmth of his lover beside him on those brisk mornings … their first winter together.

Glorfindel clasped Erestor’s arm, bringing them both to a halt. The counselor looked at Fin to see what made him react so sudden. Glorfindel nodded towards one of the old stone bridges that passed above the river. Standing in the center of the bridge was Arwen. She looked down at her hand, staring meditatively at a ring that she held in her palm … the Ring of Barahir, a gift and a promise from her love. Silver shards of light flashed in the afternoon sun. Sadness had settled on her face ever since the Fellowship left Rivendell, taking with them her betrothed, Aragorn.

“She misses her lover,” Erestor whispered.

“She has nothing to fear. Aragorn is a seasoned soldier. He is a leader among men,” Glorfindel replied.

“She has everything to fear. Aragorn is her heart’s desire. Without him, her life will not go on. What you are witnessing is what you do not see once you leave your loved ones behind. You set your mind on battle when you leave, but you do not know the distraught and worry it causes. Do not belittle her concerns, Glorfindel. Arwen has every right to feel this way.”

Feeling that they were intruding upon a private moment, Glorfindel and Erestor quietly slipped away and went to Erestor’s house. Once there, they freshened up and changed into more casual clothing … Erestor in his robes and Glorfindel in loose-fitting pants and a light gauzy shirt, which he deliberately left part way unbuttoned.

Erestor sat down in front of his mirror and reached for his braids, “Give me a moment, and I will put on some tea.”

Glorfindel came up behind him and smiled into the mirror, “Here, meldanya, let me.”

Glorfindel’s fingers started to loosen Erestor’s black braids. He had such a gentle touch, Erestor observed, especially for the strong calloused hands of a warrior. His fingers seemed to move effortlessly, as he undid weaving and knots, like the undetected hands of a pickpocket. 

Erestor remembered, upon one of his visits to Bree, standing on a corner while a horse and carriage passed. As he waited to cross the muddy street, he had a strange sensation of his robes wriggling at his hip. He looked down to find a young boy smiling up at him, pretending to wait at Erestor’s side. The movement that the elf sensed was the boy’s hand searching for coins or treasure beneath the layered robes. When the boy knew he was caught in the midst of thievery, he started to dash away, but Erestor caught his arm and stopped him. Instead of reprimanding the boy or turning him over to the proper authorities, the counselor released his hold, smiled, and called the young pickpocket to follow him. Curious, the boy followed Erestor to the nearest eatery, where the elf asked a servant to bring food for the child, and not to stop until he’d had his fill.

Bree had fallen on hard times, as did other towns. The darkness was spreading even then, but never more than it had now. The future was unclear, Erestor thought, as he remembered Arwen’s desolate expression.

He pushed these thoughts aside, and allowed Glorfindel’s touch to sooth his worried mind. “You are quite good at this, especially for someone who does not wear braids.” Glorfindel never braided his golden wavy mane. The most care he took was to tie it back with a leather thong whenever he knew he’d be brandishing his sword.

“It’s something that we do for each other when we’re out in the field. It is faster to have someone else do it, since we do not have the convenience of mirrors,” Glorfindel chortled. Finished with the braids, Fin reached for a brush and started stroking Erestor’s long black hair. When he was done, he picked up a few strands between his fingers and brought them to his cheek, “Mmm, smooth as the finest silk. I love your hair unbound, Erestor. I wish you would wear it that way more often.” He pulled Erestor’s head back so that it rested against his stomach, and then proceeded to kiss the counselor’s upside-down lips.

Erestor melted into the unusual feel, and he might have succumbed to the elf lords seductions, but after the long training session and hours without food, his stomach rumbled disagreeably. Glorfindel released him with a smile, “Perhaps you should get that tea now.”

While Erestor brewed the tea, he heard Glorfindel come into the kitchen and take a seat at the small round table near the window that looked out over the gardens below. The sun had set long ago, and a full moon was on the rise, illuminating the grounds, and casting shadows over the snow-covered lawn.

“Do you worry for me as Arwen does for Aragorn?” Glorfindel led in without warning.

Erestor turned and carried the ivory teapot to the table. Glorfindel reached for a shelf behind him, and retrieved two matching ivory cups, setting them down lightly. Erestor answered as he poured, “Of course I do.”

“But you hide it,” Fin said.

“It will do no good for Elrond’s chief advisor to walk around in a daze as he conjures up visions of his lover being attacked or hacked to pieces.” As he spoke, Erestor retrieved a plate of biscuits and a jar of honey, setting them on the table.

“Hacked to pieces,” said Glorfindel, surprised, “Is that what you think will happen to me?”

Erestor took a biscuit and split it open, “There are any number of scenarios that run through my head. An orc’s scimitar splitting the back of your skull, a warg mauling your neck and severing important arteries, or even that ill-tempered horse of yours becoming spooked and running you both off a cliff, all these things cross my mind from time to time.” He reached for the jar of honey, but Glorfindel grasped his hand stopping him.

“Ill-tempered horse?” scowled Glorfindel. He released Erestor’s hand as his hazel eyes, pierced him, “You’ve never mentioned a dislike for Asfaloth before.”

“I never had a problem until he bit my hand that time I fed him my apple,” complained Erestor, as he drizzled honey over the biscuit. “I can still see a scar.”

“I have never complained about Suldal,” Glorfindel countered. Suldal was Erestor’s horse, a grey gelding with a white mane and wings of white hair flowing from his fetlocks, hence the name Wingfoot.

“Suldal has a very calm nature, and accepts gifts gracefully, whereas Asfaloth seems a bit unruly at times, like his rider,” said Erestor, wiping a drop of spilt honey from the table. He seductively sucked it from his finger.

Glorfindel watched intently, and then forced his attention back to the subject at hand, “These ghastly disillusions you mention, do you actually believe any of these things could happen to me?”

“Well, I hope that they don’t, and most of the time it is just my imagination getting the better of me, but sometimes I have … dreams. Sometimes they seem so absolute that I feel they are really happening,” admitted Erestor.

Glorfindel reached across the table and took Erestor’s hand in his, “None of these things will happen to me, not as long as I know you are here holding out hope for my safe return.” He released his lover’s hand, and Erestor immediately missed the connection. Then Glorfindel regarded him from the opposite side as he leaned back in his chair, “You play the victim very well, Counselor, but you forget the sacrifices that a warrior makes. Days, months, sometimes years away from loved ones takes its toll on a man. Yes, our heads are on our goal, as you mentioned before, but in those quiet moments when the world around seems to stop, we cannot help but visit home, if only in our minds, and we long for flesh that we cannot touch or voices that we cannot hear.”

“You speak as though you already have a mission,” Erestor indicated.

Glorfindel watched Erestor finish his biscuit and touch a linen to the corners of his mouth. Erestor had deliberately left a drop of honey untouched on his bottom lip, and licked it away in invitation. Glorfindel subconsciously licked his own bottom lip and answered, “I might be called upon at some point. Things have been too quiet lately.” His mind was no longer on their conversation. Erestor’s seductions had worked, and so had the subliminal message with the honey. He picked up the crock as he stood from the table, and then took Erestor by the elbow, gesturing for him to stand.

Erestor’s heart was racing, but he held his cool composure, as he was well practiced in doing so, “Whatever are you thinking of doing with that?” he said, mocking surprise.

Glorfindel gave him a devious smile, “As though you don’t already know. Come, my little worker bee. It seems you have stirred the hive.” Glorfindel, Erestor, and the pot of honey disappeared into the bedroom.

* * *

By now, even Erestor began to think that things were too quiet. Winter had passed dark and calm. Elrohir and Elladan, who constantly patrolled the borders, reported no new findings of enemies in the area. There had been no word about the progress of the Fellowship either. Should their mission fail, and the ring fall into enemy hands … Erestor did not want to think about that. It was obvious that Glorfindel did, as he grew restless over the next several weeks. He started coming to the libraries more often, not to see Erestor, but to pour over old maps as he tried to predict the party’s path to Mordor. He knew which way they should have gone, but it did not mean they took that route. 

One night, Glorfindel was so absorbed in what he was doing that Erestor went home without him, leaving the elf lord access to any part of the library. Fin had taken to reading ancient maps in hopes of finding long forgotten pathways or tunnels that might be rediscovered. Gandalf would know of these options, if things took a turn for the worse.

Erestor laid in bed, eyes wide as he stared up at the ceiling, missing the warm embrace of his lover. He found it difficult to sleep without a body to curl into. He felt very alone, and the feeling followed him as he drifted into elvish dreams . . .

^ ^ ^ ^

Before him stood an ancient tower once known as Amon Lanc, but it had long since been broken and turned to ruin … Dol Guldur. It was thought to have been abandoned when Sauron was chased out, but recently it was discovered to be reoccupied and under the command of Khamûl, second chief of the Nazgûl. Some even believed that the Witch-king himself ruled there from time to time. Somehow, orcs poured from its weathered gates, though no one was quite sure where they had come from or how they multiplied. 

Erestor observed from the safety of his dream, though he felt that any moment some unseen hand might detect him, and pull him into a living nightmare. He wondered if he was watching the past, present or future, and paid close attention to everything around him.

An army of orcs had just left the ruined tower, and there was a lull in the activity. Something pulled at his will, forcing him to leave the safety of his dream-like bubble, and enter the forbidden palace. He had no choice and floated inside.

It was dark but for a few torches lit here and there. Erestor’s arm brushed against one of the walls, cold with mud and black sludge. The place had a miasma of death, that sweetly putrid stench that one could never forget. Erestor had no choice but to breathe in the foul air, and then exhaled the effluvial mixture so that it seemed to coat the inside of his mouth. His stomach wretched in disgust, but he managed to compose himself, and went deeper into the fortress until he reached an ominous door. At first look, he thought it was made of wood, but the door moved, expanding and contracting as though it breathed. Erestor moved closer and reached out to touch its surface. He immediately withdrew his hand. It was not wood as he had thought, but the skinned flesh of people, alive and warm with tiny bristling hairs that he could still feel on his fingertips. The door quivered from his touch, and then it moaned, but not from pain or torture. It was a salacious pleading cry, and Erestor found his hand reaching out again. This time, it writhed not unlike that of a deprived lover. The moans became more wanton until there was a cacophony of desirous cries, both male and female. Erestor’s body reacted against his will, swelling painfully. The voices extended beyond the door, calling the counselor inside, promising him the relief he now longed for.

Another sound cut through the moaning, this one of a dark hissing laugh. It seemed to come from above at the highest point of the tower. Erestor tore himself away from the door reluctantly and followed the laugh. Half way up a set of stony stairs, he could have sworn he heard horses running, whickering in a panic, but what were horses doing in this confined space?

Now he heard a man’s deep voice calling out in anger and humiliation, swearing vengeance, but somehow, Erestor knew the darkness had swallowed him up and he was never to be seen again. The laugh grew even louder, and the fleshy door that he left behind, pulsed in the distance with new life and ungratified need. The laughed transformed into words, the Black Speech, that which was only spoken by servants of Mordor.

“Fools, they cannot kill me. The prophet spoke of it in Fornost.”

The Witch-king of Angmar, Erestor thought to himself, and the Battle of Fornost. What did this old battle have to do with Dol Guldur?

The Witch-king spoke again, “Mmph, the prophet … now there is one in which I desire to add to my collection. His seed could empower an army, a new breed of orcs stronger than any man. He will come here, and when he does, I will enslave him, bend him to do my will, seduce him, feed off his soul, devour his brilliance, and then send forth his ruined offspring. And when my army is complete, I will use him for my own pleasure.”

Erestor thought quickly. The Battle of Fornost, Glorfindel had commanded an elvish army then. They had fought alongside Gondor, and pursued the Witch-king, who managed to escape. Still, it made no sense to the counselor. Who was this prophet he spoke of?

Suddenly, there was a high pitched screech that was so loud, Erestor had to cover his ears. It became unbearable and he dropped to his knees. He looked up to see where the sound was coming from, and saw a black reptilian-like beast with leathery wings that beat the air. Upon its back sat the shape of a man cloaked in black robes, like an empty shadow against the night sky. The man’s head turned abruptly and now faced Erestor where he hid on the landing of the stairwell. The beast let out another horrid cry and perched itself on the edge of a crumbling spire, ready to burst into flight at the demand of its rider. Erestor forgot where he was and took a step backwards. His foot slipped off the step and he felt himself fall and tumble down the stairs, a tangle of arms and legs. He yelled, but no sound came out, and he continued the dizzy fall into a bottomless abyss.

^ ^ ^ ^

Erestor awoke in a tangle of sweat soaked sheets, and for a moment, he forgot about the dream. Then it all came rushing back to him, the door, the Witch-king, and the claims of a prophet. He sat up and freed himself from the bed linens. He steadied his breathing and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I thought for sure I’d wake up dead if I had reached the bottom of that fall,” he said to himself.

It dawned on him that he was still alone. Glorfindel had never come home. Erestor threw his robes on quickly and marched off to the libraries. He needed to speak to Fin now, while the dream was still fresh in his mind.

When he got there, the lanterns had all been extinguished and the library sat in darkness. He went inside anyways, and stumbled through the dark, calling in a whisper for Glorfindel. He got no results from his search, but found himself near the archive room, a place where important documents and first-hand accounts of major events were stored. The Battle of Fornost would be amongst those things.

Erestor wanted to find Glorfindel, but something pulled at him to search for anything that might help him understand his dream. He picked up a lantern, lit it and entered the room. The section he was looking for was back in a corner of the room, with books dated T.A. 1900’s. Erestor searched through the books until he found the one labeled with the right date. Wiping a thin layer of dust from its cover, he opened it, laid it on a nearby desk, and began pouring through the pages until he found what he was looking for, The Battle of Fornost.

During the time, what was left of the ancient realm of Arnor was under attack. Ravaged by war, the Witch-king threatened a final blow. King Eärnil II sent his son, Eärnur with a fleet of ships to the north, but even after all haste, they were too late. Still, the massive Gondorian army was hailed by the surviving men and elves. Eärnur took his troops and traveled East, cleansing the lands of the enemy, the servants of Angmar. Along with Círdan, the commander of the elves of Lindon, they proved to be successful, until at last, the Witch-king made his appearance near Fornost. Eärnur prepared to face his greatest foe, but the sight of the Witch-king, clad all in black, struck fear into the hearts of the horses, and they fled in terror. Even Eärnur's own steed ran from the danger, and it was some time before the Gondorian prince could regain control. 

"That would explain the panicked cries of horses in my dream," Erestor said to himself. He read on.

The Witch-King laughed at the situation, finding his defeat much too easy, but his victory was short lived. Charging in from the west came the elves of Rivendell, led by their commander, Glorfindel. The Witch-king, sensing the might of the elf lord, fled in haste. Eärnur had seen him go, and desperately wanted to pursue his enemy, seeking vengeance against the wraith that disgraced him, but Glorfindel stopped him with a warning.

Written in a different hand, was the exact quote from Glorfindel. Erestor did not recognize the penmanship. It might have been written by Eärnur himself, or by his scribe, but the words had been spoken by the elf lord.

"Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."*

Erestor read the rest only to find out that his dream was correct, that Eärnur was eventually lost. When his father, the King, passed on, Eärnur took up the crown of Gondor, but he never forgot about the Witch-king. Twice, the wraith had challenged him. Only once did Eärnur ignore him. The second time, he took the Witch-king up on his offer. Before Eärnur went, though, he left his crown upon the lap of the statue that was the likeness of his father. Eärnur, the childless king, disappeared and was never seen again. The throne of Gondor went to the care of the line of Stewards, and it remained that way even now, waiting for the return on its rightful King. 

Erestor gave a quick thought to Aragorn, and the broken sword of his kin. Perhaps soon, the throne would be occupied. Then his attention turned back to Glorfindel as he reread the quote about the Witch-king’s doom. "I hadn't known about Glorfindel's involvement, besides commanding the army from Rivendell. But this,” he said as he ran his finger over the ancient lettering, “It was merely a warning, was it not? Could it have been a prediction as the wraith in my dream had claimed? I've known Glorfindel to be called many things, but never a prophet," Erestor whispered to the emptiness of the library. “Yet, the Witch-king still exists, and all attempts to rid the world of his malice have failed.”

Erestor felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he focused on the words, ‘not by the hand of man will he fall.’ No man had ever been able to extinguish the wraith, and Glorfindel was no man. Was this the mission he had been sent back to Middle-earth to complete? Was Glorfindel the one who would destroy the Witch-king? Perhaps so, or perhaps it was a trap to lure him to the evil black rider’s lair. Erestor’s dream was very vivid, the voice resonated through his mind still.

“With Glorfindel, he can breed an army of orcs stronger than any man,” Erestor recalled. “Dol Guldur … that is where the Witch-king resides. He is going to try to lure Glorfindel to him, capture him, and … and—” Erestor could not finish the sentence. All he wanted to do was to find Fin and warn him. Whatever happened, the elf lord could not go to Dol Guldur.”

Erestor flew from the library in search of Glorfindel. It was late in the night, but he noticed a flicker of light coming from Lord Elrond’s house. The counselor gathered his robes in his hand and ran towards Elrond’s home, hoping that he would find Fin there.

 

*Lord of the Rings; Appendix A; (iv) Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion


	8. Once A Warrior

“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!” Erestor called as he entered the vestibule in Elrond’s house. He turned to enter the grand room of the Hall of Fire and ran into Elrond, stopping just short of knocking him over. Elrond held his hands out, catching Erestor by the shoulders.

“My lord, have you seen Glorfindel? I must speak with him right away,” Erestor said breathlessly.

“He is not here,” answered Elrond, noticing Erestor’s hair in disarray from a restless slumber.

“Then where might I find him? It is very important that I—”

“He has left,” interrupted Elrond, and he released Erestor, “He has left Imladris.”

“Left, but where?”

Elrond pulled a letter from his robe, handing it to Erestor, a somber expression shadowing the features of his face. Erestor took the letter, but his eyes were set on Elrond.

“What is this?” asked Erestor, but he already guessed what it was.

“You will not have heard the disparaging news. I have received word from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien that the Fellowship had arrived at her home, and spent a good amount of time there, recovering from their trials and healing their hearts,” explained Elrond.

“Healing from what? It is not Frodo, is it? Has something happened to him and the ring?” Erestor asked anxiously.

Elrond went on to tell Erestor about the crebain spies that the travelers encountered, and the Fellowship’s decision to navigate the pass of Caradhras, only to be stopped by the mountain’s malice. With the roads being watched and the mountain being uncooperative, the Nine Walkers had no other choice but to pass beneath the mountain and traverse the Mines of Moria. There, they were discovered by Sauron’s minions, goblins that dwell in the deep dark of the mountain, but another foe was awakened during the scuffle. A Balrog of Morgoth then pursued the Fellowship, and Gandalf took it upon himself to battle the fell beast so that the others would have a chance of escape.

“All made it out of the Mines, except Gandalf. I’m afraid he has been lost to us,” Elrond concluded.

“No,” Erestor whispered as he stared at the letter in his hand, “And Glorfindel?”

“He has gone to Lothlórien to help with the lamentation. As you know, Glorfindel had been friends with Gandalf for a very long time,” answered Elrond. He patted Erestor’s shoulder, “I’m sure he will explain the reasons for his absence in the letter. But you have voiced concerns for him. Is there something I can do?”

“No, I’m afraid not, and then again, it may be nothing … just a dream I had.”

Elrond stepped in front of Erestor and gained his full attention with those dark eyes that burned into one’s soul, “Dreams always have meaning, but sometimes they are warnings. Therefore, they should not be ignored when the feelings are so strong.”

“Thank you, my lord. I will keep that in mind.” Erestor forced a hint of a smile and left Elrond’s house.

He waited until he was home before reading Glorfindel’s letter. As usual, it started out with some smart comment, Fin’s attempt to smooth the nerves before the telling of bad news. Only once had he left Imladris without telling Erestor, and he made sure to never make the same mistake twice. As duty called, Glorfindel did not always have the time to inform his mate in person about his departing, and he would sometimes leave a letter behind, usually on Erestor’s nightstand. This was the first time it was ever hand delivered by another elf, and Lord Elrond no less. This was a very important mission then, and Erestor began to worry that it was more than attending a requiem for a friend, no matter how many millennia the friendship went back.

He did not expect to be gone much more than a month, two perhaps, but no more. There was no mention of threats to Lothlórien, though that did not mean there weren’t any. Things changed quickly in recent days. Erestor began to wonder if Glorfindel would try to catch up with the Fellowship and take Gandalf’s place. If he did, it would mean his dream was just that, a dream, for he envisioned Dol Guldur as the destination. It was a sure thing that the Fellowship would not go to that place no matter what blocked their path. But Elrond’s words did nothing to ease his worry, and Erestor kept the dream as a thought in the back of his mind.

* * *

During Glorfindel’s absence, Erestor buried himself in his work, as he usually did, requiring extra help from Lastar. The young dark haired apprentice was more than happy to help, and Erestor found him to be quite a joy to have around. No one could replace the comfort that Glorfindel gave him, but the elf lord was not the best person to talk to about transcribing letters, or discuss the difficulties of foreign languages. Lastar was book smart, just as Erestor was, and both could go on for hours talking about these things and more. It was nice to have that in common with someone.

Neither elf had mentioned the incident that happened a while back, and the kiss that they shared. Yet neither one seemed uncomfortable in the other’s presence. They had moved on from that time, with an understanding between them, and were on friendly terms with one another.

It was for this reason, when Lastar approached with concerns, that Erestor told him about Glorfindel leaving and the dream. Lastar seemed to think there was nothing to worry about, and that Glorfindel was in no danger. He reassured his employer that the elf lord would be home before becoming too greatly missed, and Erestor felt a bit better about it. Lastar was a wonderful assistant, always there first thing in the morning with the lanterns lit, or incense burning, filling the library with its woodsy musk. He always had a pot of tea ready at late morning, when Erestor liked to take a break from his work, and Lastar worked as long or as short as Erestor worked, depending on how busy they were. Things ran smoothly in the library, and that was a delightful reprieve for the counselor. He still missed Glorfindel terribly, but Lastar’s friendship lessened the load of his worries.

* * *

It had been almost three weeks when Rivendell received news, good and bad. Unfortunately, another member of the Nine Walkers had met a terrible end, Boromir, Captain of Gondor.

Frodo and his faithful friend, Sam, split from the company to find their own way to Moria with the ring. Aragorn, along with Gimli and Legolas, had gone in pursuit of the group of orcs who killed Boromir and kidnapped the other two hobbits, Merry and Pippin. They eventually made their way to Fangorn Forest, where it was discovered that Gandalf, who had perished in the Mines of Moria, had been sent back from the depths of death’s sleep. 

“Gandalf then lives?” Erestor asked excitedly, thinking how joyful Glorfindel would be to know this news.

Elrohir and Elladan had told Erestor all of the latest as they had heard it from their father, and were now sitting in Erestor’s office. Lastar was busy across the room, transcribing some documents, and keeping a watchful eye on the others, as well as an ear tuned in.

“Gandalf the White, I should say,” Elladan corrected himself.

“But,” Elrohir continued the conversation, “Saruman’s army of orcs and Uruk hai are marching towards Rohan’s stronghold, Helm’s Deep. War had come at last, I’m afraid. Gandalf and the rest prepare with the Rohirrim.”

Erestor leaned back in his chair as a far off look took over his countenance. Elladan and Elrohir looked to each other, silently deciding who should speak next. Elrohir decided his twin was better at giving solemn news and nodded to Elladan to speak. “We cannot know whether Glorfindel knows of Gandalf’s return, but that seems of little importance right now.”

Erestor’s hazel eyes lifted to meet his friend. Lastar, busy in the corner of the room, stopped writing and looked up to see what was happening.

“Lothlórien prepares for battle,” Elladan stated. “They have been besieged twice already. Now they prepare to strike the enemy at its heart.”

“They are not alone in these attacks,” Elrohir added, unable to stay out of the conversation. “Mirkwood has seen the same kind of onslaught. It is my understanding that both realms will march out and meet their foe in hopes of destroying the enemy.”

“March out?” Erestor asked, “You mean, they will assist Rohan?”

“They go to Dol Guldur,” Elrohir said, “I only wish Elladan and I could go with them.”

“But our duty lies elsewhere,” Elladan chimed in. “As you know, Arwen shares the gift of foresight as with Galadriel. She has envisioned a difficult choice that lies before Aragorn. Our sister asks us to deliver something to him, a symbol of hope and encouragement that she thinks will help him make the correct choice. We are to meet with a company of Dúnedain and ride out to meet Aragorn.”

Elrohir stood from his chair. “We must be leaving,” he said, and gestured to his twin to join him. “Time runs short. We ride before the end of the day.”

Erestor stood and bowed to his friends, “May the Valar watch over you both. Stay safe, sons of Elrond.”

The twin brothers left Erestor’s office, and Lastar wasted no time discussing the latest news with him, “All our best men leave Imladris to fight elsewhere.”

“We are not unprotected though. Our remaining soldiers are very competent.” Erestor spoke with a far off tone. He was not thinking about Imladris or its protection against outside dangers.

Lastar laid a hand on Erestor’s arm, gaining his attention, “I can feel your fear for him, and I wonder if he knows how much it troubles you. He is a warrior. This is their way of life. Unfortunately it means forgetting about those they leave behind.”

Erestor’s eyes blazed as he looked at Lastar, “Glorfindel has not forgotten. Why would you say such a thing?”

“He did not stay to spare your feelings, did he? Instead, he runs off to Lothlórien only to be sucked into a war that has nothing to do with him. You do not see, Erestor, because you are too close to the source, but as I see it, Glorfindel will always choose war over you,” said Lastar fervently.

Erestor was seething with anger, but partly because he knew what Lastar said was true. Glorfindel would always go where he was needed. “You may be right, and I may not like it, but who am I to stop him?”

“I thought you were his lover, his one true mate.” Lastar shook his head, “Yet, here you are worrying for him, and he gives not even a second thought to rushing into danger. He leaves a note … a note! And without asking your opinion.” He paused to collect himself, “I am sorry, Erestor, but I cannot keep from saying that I find his lack of respect towards you appalling. I have seen you angry with him many times, yet he does not change his ways. Instead, you are the one who has had to make all the changes. You deserve better treatment than this, and though you have said it cannot be me, it should be someone who will love you, and put you first above all other things.”

Erestor could hardly think straight. How dare Lastar question anything that concerned Glorfindel. He turned his back to the young apprentice, “I think you should leave now, Lastar,” Erestor said as calmly as he could manage.

Lastar, realizing that he had said too much, stepped closer to Erestor, “I am sorry. I should not have—”

“No you shouldn’t, but you have and not for the first time. Leave me, please,” Erestor commanded. With a heavy sigh, Lastar turned and left.

Erestor waited until Lastar’s footsteps faded to silence. Then he went to his desk and took out the note from Glorfindel. It was a very simple letter, written with the knowledge that he would return soon. Glorfindel could not have known about Lothlórien or their recent decision to march into battle. Lastar was wrong about the elf lord. Fin did respect his feelings. Lórien’s decision was quick. There had not been enough time for Glorfindel to send a message detailing his recent choice. Neither had there been any time for Erestor to tell Fin of his dream.

The dream, he thought, it had been so clear, as though Erestor was within the decrepit walls of the tower, watching first hand as the Witch-king put his plans into motion. “Perhaps he knew Glorfindel was within the Golden Woods. Perhaps he had called for the attacks to lure Fin away from the protection of the Lady Galadriel.”

The more he thought things over, the more anxious he became. Glorfindel could very well be walking into a trap. Erestor was convinced that the dream was much more … a warning, as Elrond had suggested.

“You are the one who has had to make all the changes.” Lastar’s statement came back to him.

“I have made changes, it is true. I have learned to live my life more openly, without bogging myself down with work. I’ve learned to expand my mind to new possibilities, and remember where it is I came from, recalling the true nature of being elvish. And I’ve learned that I cannot sit around and hope someone else will do something in times of distress.” Erestor went to the window and gazed out across the peaceful valley below. “Someone needs to do something. I’ve always said this in the past. Well, that someone is me. I must go to Lothlórien and hope I am not too late. This dream cannot be ignored any longer. Fin is in danger, I can feel it deep within my core.”

With his mind made, Erestor retrieved his armor from his closet. It has been stored there for centuries, and he’d not adorned it since the last time he fought in battle. He was young then, and less wise, but he had not forgotten how to fight, keeping up with his swordplay over the years. Like every young elf, he joined the army and became a border guard. 

Erestor slipped out of his advisor robes, hanging them neatly in his closet. He stood in front of a full length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door, naked, observing his body. He was in excellent form, though not as well built as a warrior. Still, he had muscles where he needed the extra brawn, in his arms and upper chest. There was a light, very light rippling across his stomach. His waist was slim as well as his hips. He knew it would be a challenge if he had to fight in battle, but it was not something foreign to him. Besides being a border guard, he had fought in one battle. It was not a very important one, nothing worth mentioning in the archives, but a battle just the same.

Erestor put his black leggings and white undershirt on. Next, he shrugged into his black leather jerkin and laced it up the front. Then, he retrieved his black swede boots, pulling them on and lacing the sides. All of these things he wore when he practiced sword play at the training grounds. His armor was still in the closet, neatly placed in the back. He pulled it out and spread the separate pieces upon his bed.

Elvish armor was very thin, very lightweight, but extremely strong. It was meant to be worn for travel, keeping the body cool in the heat or warm in the winter. Erestor put his on now, the elegantly shaped metal bands wrapping around chest, arms, and thighs. Separate metal plates could be worn over his knees and shins, elbows and forearms to protest his extremities from damage, but he did not need these now. He didn’t need his armor now either, but something transformed inside him when he saw himself in the mirror.

Then he reached for his sword, the most familiar part of his uniform. He had given it the name Aicalango, which simply meant sharp sword. He had no need for a fancier name because he had never intended to become a warrior. Even in his youth, when he patrolled the border, his mind and soul had been drawn to more scholarly things. He served his duty and fought his battle, and then Erestor gave up that harsh life for the education of a scribe.

Still, he never completely gave up on his sword, or his ability to use it. No elf would be defenseless, not even a messenger or a cook, and Erestor would always be more practiced than these subjects. The one thing he hadn’t imagined was fighting in another war … protecting Rivendell, yes, but fighting in a distant land?

His hand wrapped around the hilt, a very familiar feeling. It fit perfectly in his palm, like an extension of himself. Erestor stepped back and swung the sword left, and then right in a swooping motion. He smiled and performed the motion again, this time a little faster, and again faster still. He was ready.

“If it means keeping Glorfindel from a terrible fate—” he said and paused, observing himself once more in his closet mirror, “I will do what I must.”

* * *

Erestor estimated the journey to take two weeks, but the weather had been fairly good and his horse had not easily tired, allowing him to arrive in less time. Now, he approached the bridge that led to the great gates of Lothlórien. He announced himself to the sentries stationed at the bridge’s entrance. They hadn’t expected anyone from Rivendell, especially not Lord Elrond’s chief advisor.

“I am here on my own accord. If it is at all possible, I must find and speak with Lord Glorfindel. I was told his is still here,” Erestor stated.

“He is,” answered the Galadhrim sentry, “Lord Glorfindel is taking counsel with some of our chief officers at the moment. We can have someone show you to his personal quarters, and a message will be sent, letting him know you have arrived.”

“That is fine, but a message will not be necessary. I will just wait until he returns from his duties.” Erestor did not want to give Glorfindel any kind of acknowledgement to his presence.

The sentries allowed Erestor entrance, and immediately assigned him a guide who led him to the guest quarters where Glorfindel was staying. As she led him, Erestor inquired about the raids, “We were told in Rivendell that Lothlórien was attacked several times.”

The tall, fair, silver haired Noldo smiled, but her eyes showed signs of worry, “It has been ages since anything like this has happened, but yes, there have been raids upon our city. The Galadhrim patrol well beyond the stone road that borders the forest, and they caught a number of orcs in those areas. Still, a few somehow made it past the deep fosse and the wall that encircles Lothlórien.” She stopped and wrung her hands together nervously. “No one has ever dared to breech the city. The Lady’s powers have always kept us safe and untouched.”

Erestor gave a comforting smile, “I am sure it will not happen again.”

“Oh no, my lord, it hasn’t … not since Lord Glorfindel arrived. We are very fortunate to have him amongst us. His powers are just as great as those of Galadriel, and I do not believe that anyone would challenge that kind of unique strength.

By now they were at Glorfindel’s quarters, and the elleth showed Erestor inside. As she was leaving, she turned to him again, “I see you come dressed for battle. Do you come to march upon the black fortress with the rest of the troops?”

“My task is with Lord Glorfindel first and foremost, but should I be needed, I am prepared to help,” Erestor answered.

“That is a very noble gesture for someone who does not seem to be a soldier,” she responded, her eyes going to his hands where he held them, fingers linked together. “You have the hands of a scribe.”

“You are quite observant.” Erestor could not help himself from moving his hands behind his back.

The Noldo elleth smiled modestly as she looked away from Erestor, “Then I am to assume that Lord Glorfindel will be rather elated to see his guest.”

“Shocked might be a better word,” Erestor mumbled.

“I will make sure you are not … disturbed this evening,” she said and blushed slightly, “But it could be a while yet before he shows. Shall I have a meal sent while you wait, and perhaps some wine?”

Erestor’s fingers fumbled in his hair. How could she tell all of that from the brief time they’d spoken, “Yes, food and wine would be fine, thank you.”

The servant nodded and batted her long lashes as she slipped out of the door, “Right away, my lord. Welcome to Lothlórien.”

Erestor circled the room. Such odd accommodations, he thought. It was nothing like the stone buildings in Rivendell. The houses here were built within the trees, talans made from wood and canvas placed on one side or the other of a staircase that wound up along each tree. A few flets were built around the bole of the tree itself, if the circumference was the right size. Suspended pathways connected the trees, some with two or three built at various levels for ease of access.

Erestor had read much about Lothlórien and Caras Galadhon, but he had not experienced it firsthand. “Ingenious design,” he muttered to himself, “for a community of tree-people.” Still, he preferred the solidness of stone beneath his feet, as in Rivendell.

There was always the sound of singing, though he never saw the elves who gifted their voices to the air, only the flickering of lights higher up within the canopy. A knock at the door drew Erestor’s attention away from the serenity of the song surrounding him. A different servant brought a basket and a bottle of wine. It smelled wonderful, of fresh warm bread and honey, and the richness of a hearty stew flavored with thyme and rosemary.

The servant, a young male dressed in dark grey robes, and sporting the same shades of silver hair as the rest of the Noldor, sat his bundle upon the closest table, and then bowed to Erestor, “Shall I set the table for you, my lord?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Erestor smiled politely, “but could you tell me who the elves sing for?” He wasn’t sure if it was still a lament to Gandalf.

“They celebrate the return of Mithrandir, though the old grey pilgrim he is no more,” said the servant. He promptly bowed and left the talan.

Erestor enjoyed the stew, and set aside some of the bread and honey. He opened the wine and had a glass while waiting for Glorfindel. He didn’t want to compromise his soberness, and the stew was doing nicely to absorb the headiness of the strong wine. He wasn’t sure what Fin’s reaction would be to his surprise visit, and he needed to be in the right frame of mind.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The handle of the door turned and stopped as a voice spoke on the opposite side, “Your brother is very thorough, isn’t he?”

“He has been in charge of protecting Lothlórien for many centuries, and has never been challenged before. You must understand, Glorfindel, your presence has caused a bit of a ripple in our usual way of doing things.”

“I do not wish to take over his position, Rúmil, but if I have been assigned my own troops to command, I will see over them as I deem necessary,” Glorfindel answered.

“It is not me who needs convincing. I have always admired your skill … as well as other great attributes.”

Erestor raised a curious, if just a bit jealous brow at Rúmil’s forward comment. Rúmil was the youngest brother of Haldir, the March Warden of the Galadhrim, and obviously not as worried about his reputation as his older sibling. Erestor would have liked to burst through the door and ask Rúmil just what ‘attributes’ he was speaking of, but decided to eavesdrop and see how Glorfindel would respond.

“You have shown great skill yourself, Rúmil, and I’m sure your abilities extend well beyond the uniform.” Glorfindel paused, and Erestor began to see red.

“There better be more to that sentence,” the counselor whispered to himself.

“But alas,” Glorfindel continued, “I have reined in my old ways, and while there was a time when I would have—” He stopped again to search for the right words, “—examined your credentials, it would not be proper behavior for someone of my current status.”

Erestor heard Rúmil laugh demurely, “Ai, as they say, yet again I am a day late. Shame it must be that way, but you can’t blame me for trying.”

Glorfindel laughed in return, “Go and ready your mind for what lies ahead, and when you’re through, work on restraining your brother’s exaggerated confidence.”

“You do not know my brother very well, I see. Good to know I am not the only one who hasn’t been … examined more closely. However, do not fret over Haldir’s attitude. Once everything is straight and we are off to battle, he is focused and devoted to Lórien.”

Erestor heard Rúmil leave and the door opened to reveal the sight that never ceased to amaze Erestor’s heart.

“Erestor?” Glorfindel gasped.

The counselor did as he always had when confronting Glorfindel, and put on a stern face, hiding the deep admiration that could render him speechless if it overtook him. His brow lifted cynically, “Fighting off a new wave of admirers, I see. When do you have the time to train the troops?”

Glorfindel, caught by surprise, bowed his head as a disconcerted smile spread. He ran his fingers through his golden mane, a sign that his usually cool composure had been unexpectedly disturbed. Then his eyes rolled up as he gazed through his long lashes, and Erestor felt like the helpless doe cornered by the almighty lion. The counselor was not helpless, however. He was prepared to defend his reasons for coming.

“What are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked calmly.

“I thought it was a nice day for a ride,” Erestor answered with a clever tongue, “What do you think? I’m here to see you.”

“It would be a lie to say my heart is not overjoyed, but I cannot help to state the obvious. You should not be here.”

“Before you say more, I wish you to hear me out. You know I would not have followed you if it weren’t important.”

“Has something happened in Imladris?” Glorfindel said worriedly.

“The House of Elrond is secure.” Erestor shook his head and approached the elf lord, “No, it’s something else, something on a more personal level. Fin, the night you left I had a dream.”

“A dream?” Glorfindel laughed skeptically, “You came all this way because of a dream?”

Erestor furrowed his brow, “It was not just a dream. It was as though I was there watching and listening. I dreamt of Dol Guldur and the Witch-king of Angmar. Fin, I believe you are in danger, and this dream was a warning. I am asking you to stay and defend Lothlórien instead of going to the dark tower.”

“You know I cannot do that. I have been called upon by Lord Celeborn. My duty lies with him and Galadriel. I am leading the largest of his army to battle.”

“I knew you would say that, so I came prepared.” Erestor had taken his armor off when he arrived at the room. Now he went to the corner where he had stowed it away, and picked up his chest plate. “I am going with you then.”

“You are not going to Dol Guldur,” Glorfindel directed with a matter-of-fact account of the situation.

“I am going, and that is final.” Erestor demanded, “You don’t understand. This dream, this vision was so horrifically real. The Witch-king spoke of his plans. It is a trap, Fin. He means to lure you there, and then to enslave you. He wants to use you to breed an unstoppable army.”

Glorfindel shook his head defiantly, “No, the Nazgûl fear me, they always have. It is the reason Lord Celeborn asked me to command his army. He knows Dol Guldur may be ruled by the wraiths, and my presence is the strongest weapon Lórien has against the enemy.”

“And that is what the Witch-king is counting on. I am telling you, Fin, I have seen it clear as a crystal. He is waiting for you,” Erestor said fervently, “And if you mean to go, then I am going with you to fight at your side.”

Glorfindel came to Erestor, taking the elvish armor piece from him and laying it back upon the others, “What do you know of war? You have spent centuries as Elrond’s advisor. Your harshest enemy has been a paper cut, not the slice of a blade. Your weapon is your words, though sometimes they are as sharp as the edge of a knife. You say you fear for me? Well, meldanya, I fear for you as well.”

“Then nothing I can say will convince you?” Erestor bent down to adjust the laces of his boot. “Mmph, and here I came all this way—” He interrupted himself as he pulled a dagger from a hidden fold in the boot, spun around and came up behind Glorfindel before the elf lord could blink twice. Erestor twisted a large muscled arm behind Fin’s back, holding it at a most unpleasant angle. His other hand brought the dagger up to the warrior’s neck, leaving Glorfindel with only one free hand, in which he used it to grab Erestor’s wrist to keep the blade from pushing any harder into his tender skin.

Erestor laughed, his lips touching the back of Glorfindel’s ear, “What do I know of war, you ask? I know what it is like to run head on into a line of orcs, to see its dead yellow eyes settle on me, then turn at the last second and drive its black blade into the man at my side. I know war, Glorfindel, and I did not need a career as a warrior to understand it.”

Erestor released Glorfindel’s arm, but still held the dagger at his throat. With his free hand, he lifted Fin’s tunic and began loosening the laces of his leggings, “I can see you may not be completely convinced, so let me see what I can do to change your mind.” He eased the dagger down Glorfindel’s tunic, the metal blade clinking against the buttons, and got to his knees. He could see the elf lord’s chest heaving with rapid breath as the blade came lower and cut through the lace of the leggings where it had knotted in Erestor’s attempt to untie it. The waistband immediately loosened, and the counselor released Glorfindel in all his glory, ready and pulsing. He looked up at the elf lord, and for the first time, saw the awe and surprise in his face. Erestor parted his lips, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “No more arguments. I am going,” he demanded and swallowed his lover.

* * *

Erestor lay on his side with Glorfindel contoured against his back. The bed in the guest quarters was only meant for one, but it had sufficed. Glorfindel moaned as he awoke, and nuzzled his nose into the crook of Erestor’s neck, “Mmm, I should say no to you more often. You offer a very convincing appeal, quite urgent and pressing.”

Erestor blew out a short laugh, “If I remember correctly, you were the urgent one while I was doing the pressing.”

Glorfindel laughed out loud, “Oh meldanya, your wickedness is always a surprise.” He sat up, stood from the bed, and stepped over to the basin across the room.

Erestor watched as his mate washed up and dressed in his uniform. He was as tall as they came, Glorfindel, broad through the shoulders, thighs of iron. Everything about him screamed of the appurtenances of a warrior. Bred for it since childhood, soldiering was second nature to him. This was part of Glorfindel’s charm, part of what made him so desirable. He really couldn’t blame Rúmil for trying to seduce his lover. All heads turned when the elf lord walked through a crowd or entered a room, and every one of them yearned for a single chance to be noticed. Somehow, Erestor managed to catch Glorfindel’s attention, as unlikely as he thought it would have been at one time.

The only other people to know Glorfindel’s passion were his soldiers, those who proudly served their gilded captain, for they loved and respected him in a way that no civilian could. Now, Erestor would know both sides to Glorfindel, soldier and lover.

With both elves dressed in uniform, Glorfindel began his instructions, “You will come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my company. Today I give them their marching orders. You,” Glorfindel said as his fingers caught Erestor’s chin, “will receive no special attention. You are one of my troops and will follow my orders. Understood?” 

“Yes, my captain,” Erestor answered like a loyal soldier.

Glorfindel’s eyes blazed into Erestor’s, making their hearts beat wildly, “I think I like you calling me Captain. You should do it more often,” Glorfindel whispered. Their lips came together as they engulfed each other in a molten kiss that Erestor would feel long after their day had started.

“Don’t get used to it,” Erestor replied when they parted, his usually dry humor edging his words.

Later, Erestor joined Glorfindel, met with the Galadhrim who would serve under Glorfindel’s command, and found his place within the company. In just a few days’ time, they would march out of the Golden Woods heading for the dark broken tower known as Dol Guldur. Erestor swore not to leave Glorfindel’s side once they made their final approach. The vision was still very clear in his mind, and Erestor would look for signs and familiar sights that he hoped would help Glorfindel navigate the enemy’s lair and keep him out of the hands of the Witch-king. Erestor would do everything within his power to see his lover safe, even if it meant confronting the Black Captain himself.


	9. The Battle at Dol Guldur

It was morning, and the armies of Lothlórien were gathered and awaiting their orders to march out. Glorfindel had gone with the other commanders to meet with Haldir, head warden of the entire elvish force, and discuss final arrangements for the approach. Erestor stood with the men of his company, checking and rechecking armor, weapons and confidence. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and noticed a messenger weaving his way between the grouped armies, searching for someone in particular. As he approached Erestor, the counselor stopped him, “Can I be of some help?”

The messenger, a young Noldo with brilliantly silver hair and emerald eyes, seemed set on his mission, but stopped to answer Erestor, “I was looking for Lord Glorfindel.” The youth looked Erestor over quickly and relaxed a bit, “You are from Rivendell too?”

“Yes, I am chief counselor to Lord Elrond. Why do you ask?”

He looked Erestor over carefully and, deciding that the black haired elf was indeed who he said he was, handed Erestor a note and continued, “I was told to give this to you, should the Lord Glorfindel be unavailable, and so far I have not been able to locate him.”

Erestor read the neat scrawl and felt a bit of relief. Lord Elrond was sending some of Imladris’s troops to show his support and to help reinforce the Lórien army. “This is quite good news. I’m sure Lord Glorfindel will be pleased to—” 

“There is only one problem,” the Noldo interrupted, “Only one has arrived.” The youth stopped and searched the crowd of soldiers, standing on his tip toes, “Oh dear, I’m afraid I lost him in my search for the Captain. Perhaps you know him. He says his name is—”

“Lastar?” Erestor called as he looked past the messenger’s shoulder and saw a familiar face amongst the crowd. The dark haired apprentice heard his name and caught sight of Erestor.

The messenger turned and motioned towards Lastar, “So you know him then? That is a relief, but I am not sure why he came alone.”

Erestor looked at the note again. At first glance, it seemed to be Elrond’s handwriting, but with a more concentrated stare, he saw the discrepancies. Elrond did not write this note. “I think I may know why,” he commented to the messenger. Then he looked up from the letter in his hand, and glared at Lastar with narrowed slits of his hazel eyes.

“Erestor, I was hoping I was in time,” Lastar said as he approached.

“I still need to speak with Lord Glorfindel,” the messenger said as he looked from one Rivendell elf to the other.

“I will relay the message to him when he returns,” Erestor said with his usual authority.

“But what of the other troops?” the messenger asked with concern.

Erestor glared at Lastar with a stern eye, “Perhaps you would like to explain since I have no doubt that this was your doing.”

Lastar turned to the messenger, bowing his head, “I deeply apologize if I have caused any inconvenience. There are no other troops coming. Lord Elrond knows nothing of this. It was all my doing. I urgently needed to speak to Lord Erestor and in order to cross your borders without hindrance, I forged the note and my lord’s signature.”

The messenger was flabbergasted, “You know this is a punishable offence.”

Erestor intervened at once, “I understand and apologize for this . . .” he paused to glare at Lastar again, then continued with a strong sense of annoyance in his voice, “. . . this nuisance. However, I know this man quite well. In Rivendell he is under my employment. You may leave him here, and I will assume full responsibility for him until the Captain returns from his meeting. Then, we will take matters into our own hands.”

The messenger looked deflated and gave in, “Very well,” he said resignedly, and went away.

Erestor brought his attention back to Lastar, “Taken to forgery, have you?”

Lastar looked quite embarrassed as he came up with an answer, “Have you never signed something for Lord Elrond before?”

“You know I have, but with Elrond’s permission, and … might I add … he approved it beforehand. But this, Lastar … what were you thinking?” Erestor reprimanded. He looked at the letter again. Then he waved it in his apprentice’s face, “Sending a few troops, and then only you arrive? Did you not think this would be questioned?”

“There was no time once I learned that you had left. I knew the Galadhrim would not let me enter their grounds, so I had to make something up quickly, and Lord Elrond was the best way I knew how,” Lastar argued. He would not give up so easily.

Erestor closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why are you here then? Why have you followed me?”

“I know why you came, and it was not to aid Lothlórien. It’s because of that dream you told me about, the one about the Witch-king and Dol Guldur. You came for Glorfindel, and I can’t help but think it was my fault.”

Erestor glanced around where he stood. Some of the elves closest to him were eyeing the Rivendell pair, so he took Lastar by the arm and led him away from the crowd to a place with fewer ears to listen to their conversation. When he was satisfied that they had enough privacy, he began again, “You wasted your time coming here. Glorfindel knows about the dream. And I find it hard to believe that you would risk everything to come here just for that. You must have known that I would tell Glorfindel everything about the visions, and I have. He knows of my concern, and I have made it clear that I am going with him to Dol Guldur. I don’t know what you thought you would accomplish by coming here, but if it has anything to do with your feelings for me—”

Lastar interrupted, “It’s more than that, Erestor. I’ve had time to think about it all … everything from Mithrandir’s fall, to Glorfindel’s reason for coming to Lórien, and all that you told me about your dream, and—” He stopped to catch his breath. “I believe it is a trap, not just for Glorfindel, but for you too.”

“For me?” Erestor said confused, “Why me? I am of no importance to the enemy.”

“Don’t you find it suspicious that you were given this dream, this vision? If the enemy was set on trapping Glorfindel, why allow anyone a glimpse of their plans,” Lastar justified, “You know the Nazgûl have a great fear of Glorfindel’s powers. I think they mean to weaken him first, strike at his heart.”

Erestor’s mind began to decipher things, but he was reluctant, “Who’s to say that the enemy implanted the vision? Perhaps it came from the Valar to show me what will come to pass if I do nothing.”

“All I am asking is that you do not follow Glorfindel into battle. You have warned him, that should be enough,” Lastar pleaded.

“No, I cannot do that. I must go with him. I have seen things he has not, and I know what signs to look for,” Erestor answered, his voice rising in anger. He did not like Lastar being here or interfering with his plans.

Lastar was becoming desperate for Erestor to listen. He took the counselor by the shoulders and shook him, “Erestor, please, listen to me. You mustn’t go!”

Erestor pushed him away, “Do not speak to me like this. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

Lastar stumbled when Erestor shoved him, but he recovered his balance quickly and stepped back towards his mentor, eyes bright with determination, “I am a friend. I am someone who cares what happens to you, and if Glorfindel cared, he would not allow you to go with him. But his mind is set on war, and he only thinks of himself … just like he always does.” Lastar threw away any caution, and cupped his hands to the sides of Erestor’s face, “And because no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how many times you push me away, my feelings will not change. I love you Erestor, and if something should happen to you, I will surely fade.”

Erestor had hoped that they were past this, but he should have known better. Love had struck at Lastar’s heart, and that was not an easy thing to ignore. Hadn’t he done the same thing by coming to Lórien to find Glorfindel and try to change his mind? But Glorfindel would not alter his course for him, no more than Erestor would alter his for Lastar. The young apprentice need not risk his life though, not for someone who could not return those feelings of admiration.

He took Lastar’s hands and lowered them from his face, released him and stepped away, slowly shaking his head from side to side, “Do not tell me these things. You know my feelings can never mirror yours. My heart belongs to Glorfindel and only him. What you seek from me I cannot give you.”

“Why? Why do you give yourself to him? Why do you give him every part of your being when he only gives you a portion of himself? I am the only one who can see how he uses you. It is not love, Erestor, it is a convenience to him. He gives only when it benefits him. Glorfindel is not your salvation. He is your disease, and if you follow him to Dol Guldur, you will die.”

Simply turning the young ellon away was not enough. Erestor would have to get tough. He would have to break an unrequited heart, and it tore at his soul to have to do it. The kindness in his face molded into anger and disappointment. He stretched himself upwards, feeling that he was towering over Lastar, and laid it out plainly for him to see. “You listen to me, and you listen well. You have made a mistake by coming here. Nothing you say about Glorfindel will change my feelings for him. Your feelings for me have blinded you to everything else. So let me make myself perfectly clear, Lastar. I do not love you, nor will I ever.” Erestor looked away, and saw that the troops were beginning to organize. The Captains must have returned with their marching orders. They would leave soon. “Find the strength to move on from this, for nothing will ever come from it. Go home, Lastar. Go back to Imladris, and think about what has happened here and what I have said.”

“No, I will not go, and if you are determined to march with the armies, then I am going with you,” Lastar demanded as though he hadn’t heard a single word Erestor had said.

Erestor shook his head. So it had come down to this. He hated the thought, but there was only one thing left to do. Looking past Lastar, he saw one of Lothlórien’s wardens passing by. “You leave me with no choice,” he said as he motioned to the warden. The elf approached, but Lastar did not turn to look. His eyes remained locked on Erestor.

“What seems to be the problem?” the warden asked, looking Lastar over carefully.

Lastar’s eyes softened and he pleaded one last time, “Please, Erestor.”

Erestor stepped away from his apprentice to speak to the warden. He still held the note in his hand, glanced at it, closed his eyes and sighed, “I request that this man be taken into custody. He is here on false pretenses.”

“Have you any evidence?” the warden inquired.

Erestor handed him the letter, “I am chief advisor to Lord Elrond and this was not written by his hand. This ellon has falsely identified himself to your guards, breeched the borders unlawfully, and insists on marching with the armies. He is not a soldier, and I fear he will only bring harm to himself or others.” Erestor’s voice was somber.

“Erestor, don’t do this,” Lastar whispered one last time.

“Please take him, and if at all possible, arrange for him to be escorted back to Rivendell. A message will be sent on ahead to notify Lord Elrond, and his punishment will be dealt accordingly,” Erestor told the warden.

The warden nodded, stepped forward and took Lastar’s arm, “Come with me.”

Lastar did not resist, but his eyes did not leave Erestor. However, Erestor would not look at him. He turned away from his apprentice and started back to join his company, but he stopped and called over his shoulder to Lastar, “When you get back to Imladris, you should find new employment. You no longer work in the libraries, and are relieved of your duties there.” Without another look back, Erestor disappeared into the crowd of soldiers.

By the time Erestor returned, Glorfindel was there amongst his men. The elf lord hadn’t seen Lastar. The warden had taken him away before anyone had noticed. Still, Glorfindel could tell something had happened by the frown on Erestor’s face. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Erestor answered as he mentally shook himself back to the present. He hated what he had to do, but it was for Lastar’s own good. He could not let him stay and fight. Lastar would surely die, and though Erestor was upset with him, he did not wish anything to happen to him. “Do we have our orders?” Erestor asked, clearing his mind of the uncomfortable scene with his apprentice.

“Yes, we are leaving shortly, just as soon as everyone takes formation.” Glorfindel paused and studied Erestor’s face, “What is it, meldanya? Something has upset you. I can see it in your eyes.”

Erestor forced a smile, “It is nothing. I’m just anxious to be on our way.”

“Likewise,” Glorfindel said, returning a reassuring smile of his own, “It won’t be long. Come, gather with the men. We go to battle soon.”

* * *

It was a grueling journey through the Rhovanion, with fell creatures around every tree, hill and boulder. Ravens, snakes and wolves, they made it a harrowing experience, but the worst of them all were the spiders. They moved with precise deadliness, silent stealthy beasts armed with venom filled fangs. Erestor had even seen one capture an elf with its web, hoist him into a tree and disappear with its victim. The soldier was never seen again. After that, they doubled their guard, keeping a set of eyes on the canopy as well as the forest floor. But loss of life was kept at a minimum, and the Lothlórien armies plowed their way through the dark southern forest. Now they were close enough that they could see the broken towers rising up through the fog and clouds that hovered ominously above the hill where Dol Guldur stood.

Erestor felt a shard of ice pierce his spine as he gazed upon this place. So real it seemed now, and no longer a dream that he could wake from. He’d been here before, in this exact spot, but from the safety of his sleepy mind. Here it was, the fortress looming above its barren hill, the surrounding area a wasteland of dead trees, ash and rock. Evil had dwelled here for so long that the land had been devastated to a point where it seemed nothing would grow again.

“We must keep our heads about us,” said an elf soldier close to Erestor, “There are things here that can invade our minds if we let them. Keep good thoughts close at hand. Think of home, friends and family, loved ones … anything that might ward off the evil.”

At the mention of loved ones, Erestor glanced up ahead to where Glorfindel conferred with other army captains. It was difficult to hide his feelings, though outwardly he held his composure. Inside, his gut tightened, and his heart felt like it pulsed in his throat. This land, this place, it raised his anxiety. No good would come from any of this. What was worse was Glorfindel’s ignorance. Even with Erestor’s warnings, he still felt like the elf lord did not take it seriously. Fin was focused on battle strategies and orders. He had a job to do, and he would do it to perfection. If there was a threat to him or his men, he would take it on when he came face to face with it.

As they approached, Erestor wondered about the fortress. It must have been a wondrous place at one time. It had once been the capital for the Silvan elves. Then it was known as Amon Lanc or Bald Hill. The hill rose up out of the forest like a lookout tower, a perfect place for the Silvans. But Sauron slowly moved his forces into the southern forest and the Silvan elves departed north. The fortress was ruined now. Evil was so deeply imbedded into the hill and the surrounding land that it could never be rebuilt, even with the best intensions. 

The forest floor gave way to a deteriorated cobblestone road. The remnants of dead pines lined the drive, like decrepit skeletons forced to stand at attention. The armies halted as though stepping on the stones would warn the enemy of their approach. Erestor thought that it was too late. Something surely knew they were here.

Glorfindel came to Erestor’s side, and they both gazed ahead to the great fortress with its multiple towers. They looked like claws reaching for the sky, ready to snatch up anyone who dared to enter.

“Is this what you saw, Erestor?” Glorfindel asked.

He was surprised Fin asked about his vision, but he nodded, “Yes, this is how it started at least. Then, I was swept inside quickly.”

“Where, do you remember?”

Erestor tried to remember how it was he entered the castle. He pointed to what looked like a secondary level, “There, I think, where you see that dark place in the wall. It is an entrance I believe, but once inside, the halls twist and turn, and they fork off in every direction. It will be very difficult to navigate, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I know,” said Glorfindel, “We have a map, a layout of the interior, but it is centuries old, and as you can see, much has changed.” He gestured towards statues that looked like they had once been stone columns, but now were carved into the likeness of the Nazgûl. “There is no telling what we will find inside.”

“You do not mean to enter the fortress, do you?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel gave an agitated sigh, “It is not up to me. Haldir has handed down our orders. We are to fight outside the walls. That is, of course, if the orc armies come out to meet us.”

“You do not agree with the marchwarden,” Erestor stated rather than asked.

“There are a lot of things that we don’t see eye to eye on, but I am not in charge here. Haldir is.”

Erestor could hear the contempt in Glorfindel’s voice, “I’m afraid I must agree with Haldir in this case. We do not know what to expect inside the castle. The orcs will be at an advantage.”

“We may not be completely in the dark,” Glorfindel admitted with a curl of his mouth in a deceptive smile.

“What do you mean?” Erestor asked curiously.

Glorfindel glanced around to make sure no one was listening, “I sent scouts ahead, two days past.”

“You’ve what?” Erestor said louder than he’d meant. He dropped his voice back to a whisper, “You do realize that you have just sent some of your men to their deaths.”

“They are Lórien’s best, stealthy and quick. Do not fret, meldanya, they will return. I have confidence in them, or I would not have sent them.” As if on cue, two elves came forward and stood at the edge of the crowd, their faces stark and their breath short. Glorfindel nodded to them, then excused himself from Erestor.

Meanwhile, Erestor was called up by his men. Something was happening. All of the armies were taking formation. Banners were being raised and weapons drawn. There was movement inside the fog that kept the base of Dol Guldur hidden from plain view. Dark shapes converged then separated, but any sound was muffled by the thick grey mist. Still, every elf knew what it was. Sauron’s armies had been sent forth.

Glorfindel appeared out of nowhere, it seemed. Erestor turned his head and took in the sight that stood at his side. Even at this desperate hour, Glorfindel was beautifully decorated in his silver armor, his long hair cascading down his back, loose and unbound, unlike the usual braids that the warriors wore. His brilliant blue eyes were the only thing that held any color. Everything else was drawn in shades of grey and black. For one brief moment, Erestor wondered if this was the last time he would see his lover like this, strong and sufficient, bold, wise and deadly. He could see what it was that frightened the Nazgûl. Glorfindel held some ancient power instilled upon him by the Valar, as though part of them lived through him and gave him his brilliance. He must shine like the sun, blinding those who cower from its brightness, Erestor thought. But where the enemy shrunk back from Fin’s light, Erestor bathed in it and absorbed it, allowing it to fill him with that undeniable sense of immortality, and the knowledge that he would live to see the sun again.

Glorfindel stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed on the fog, “This is it, Erestor. This is the real battle.” He shut his eyes as his head turned towards Erestor. When they opened, they burned for his lover and nothing else. “Stay safe, meldanya.” Then he bent his head to Erestor’s ear and whispered, “I love you.”

Erestor tilted his head so that they were looking within each other’s eyes. Not caring who saw them, they kissed, lips and tongues slowly caressing, tasting, memorizing. When they separated, Glorfindel touched the side of Erestor’s face, his gloved finger tracing the counselor’s jaw. “Mine,” he whispered, and he was off to rally his men.

Erestor stayed at the front of the gathered men, but off to the outer edge of the company. From here on out, he was a soldier, fighting for his life, as well as those around him, but one eye would always be on Glorfindel, especially if they entered the fortress. Parts of the vision were becoming reality, the scenery was all too familiar. And somewhere within Dol Guldur was the Witch-king, watching and waiting for Glorfindel. Erestor was watching also, and he would let nothing happen to his lover.

* * *

The first line of orcs broke free of the fog, and as they emerged, others followed. They spilled from the fortress as though they had been regurgitated from its stone bowels, a never ending flow of filth. They were armed and ready, rusty black blades in position to strike as soon as they were within proper distance. Erestor heard Haldir call out to his archers, and the stretching of bowstrings followed.

“Release!” the marchwarden commanded, and the whirring screech of arrows passed overhead. Next was the unmistakable sound of bodies falling, metal from their armor clanking on the cobblestone road. The front lines of orcs now littered the ground, but more came.

Haldir gave his orders again, and a second round of arrows arched high above in the darkened sky, many finding their targets as more orcs fell. Still, they were replaced by more wretched creatures.

Next, the army captains called to their troops and the soldiers responded by bringing their shields in front of them, their swords ready at their sides. One more set of arrows launched in the air, and the captains commanded to charge forward. Erestor took one last moment to look left and then right. He hoped he would see these men again, but then, this might be the last time he saw them alive.

Then the entire force of elves charged ahead, crashing into the oncoming orcs. Metal struck metal, silver clashed with flesh and the shine of clean blades quickly turned black with orc blood. Voices could no longer be distinguished from one another, as it was just one loud roar.

Erestor charged ahead, twisting, swinging, slaying, dodging scimitar and spear, saving the elf next to him, saving himself. And every time he had a slight moment to breathe, his eyes scanned the scene for Glorfindel. And every time, he found him, still standing, still fighting with exalted lethality. He was a beast when he fought, moving laboriously ahead as he cut a path into the orc army. He was in constant movement, like a dancer, and the blade was his partner. The orcs that fell dead from his strikes looked as though they parted the way for him. Erestor’s body reacted to the sight, coming alive at a most inopportune time. Death and desire, they really did walk a fine line, but death it would be if Erestor did not pull himself from the awe of watching Glorfindel in combat.

The main bulk of the orc army was now out of the fortress, and the conflict spread out over what Erestor assumed used to be a courtyard. It was easier to fight now, with more room to move about. It had been ages since he fought in a war, but it was like second nature to him. When one’s life depended on it, fighting came easily. Stay alive, that was his only goal for the moment. Glorfindel was somewhere up ahead, and Erestor concentrated on the battle happening around himself for now. The gilded warrior could manage on his own.

Erestor’s world shrunk to a small area that surrounded him. He had only split seconds to determine whether friend or foe entered his invisible border. An orc … a forward thrust of his sword … black blood sprayed onto his armor. He repeated this movement over and over until the hilt of his sword became a part of his hand, infusing into his flesh as if it were an extension arm. The energy flowed through his body, beginning in his feet, up his legs to his waist. A twist, and the energy continued through his chest and shoulder, finally traveling through his arm where it was released through the sharp blade of Aicalango, Erestor’s sword. This was all the counselor knew of his world. His only goal was to kill and not be killed. Everything else melted away around him. He was a soldier, a warrior once more as he was in his youth. He knew nothing of scrolls or libraries, not even of lovers. He was a weapon of the army and nothing more.

He couldn’t say how long he was in this trance, for minutes or days, it did not matter. He could stay here for as long as it took, until the last orc fell. Then his pace started to slow, not from exhaustion, for his adrenaline had kept him vital, but because there were fewer to kill. His invisible border began to extend outward as his vision was no longer tunneled. That’s when he remembered where he was, not that he had forgotten, but for a while it did not matter. Dead or dying bodies littered the forest floor. The smells were horrid. Death had a scent, metallic for blood, putrid waste for spilled entrails, and burnt flesh for those who had caught fire from torches. All of it was unforgettable. Erestor gave a quick thought to Lastar. Thank the Valar he had sent him away. The youth did not need to see any of this. Most of all, he did not need to be a victim of war.

The ground was slick with blood, and not all of it black. Red mingled with the dark pools, and Erestor hated to think that they were allowed to mix together as they were. He looked to his left, and found a dead orc covering the body of a fallen comrade. No, he thought, not even in death are you allowed to touch one of us. He pushed the orc from the elf, recognizing the face. It was the one who told them to set their minds to love and family. Well, Erestor said to himself, he died for the protection of those he spoke of, so that they would live on in a world free of fear. From the look of the battle ground, they had accomplished that goal, if just for a small part of the world. Although elves lay dead upon the ground, more of the carnage were orcs, thank the Valar.

Now his hearing was returning, the ringing in his ears subsiding as his blood’s pace slowed to normal. If his first thought was that he still lived, his second thought was for Glorfindel. How long had it been since he’d seen him last? He glanced around, looking for his golden head, but found no trace of him. Panic set in quickly, and he automatically called out his lover’s name.

“Glorfindel!” he exclaimed, “Lord Glorfindel!”

“He’s not here,” said an elf, blood covering half of his face. He sat upon the ruins of a fallen pillar, his friend at his side holding a ball of rags to his head.

Erestor’s heart sunk, but he held his composure, “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing like that,” the elf quickly corrected, “He left the battle before it ended.”

He had been fighting for so long, Erestor thought he misunderstood the elf and shook his head, “He left?”

“Yes, he went into the fortress,” came the answer that Erestor did not want to hear.

Looking at the injured elf more closely, he thought he recognized him, and realized he was one of the scouts that Glorfindel had sent on earlier, “Tell me all you know,” Erestor demanded.

The scout had gone with his brother, to examine the castle before the battle had begun. Glorfindel had sent them to find out more about the orc army before they were released from within the fortress. The elf lord had given them explicit instructions to relay their findings to Haldir, which they had done. But upon their closer examination, and because they snuck in through a back entrance thought to be forgotten about, they found a room, a wooden door unguarded and unlocked. The scouts found it very peculiar, but investigated and found that the room held cells, and within those cells were captured elves.

“Most of them looked like they had been caught recently, though they were gaunt in the face from lack of food, water and sunlight. We were about to leave, fearing we’d taken too much time, when we heard muffled cries coming from within the wall of that room. I called out to whoever it was, but I could not understand what they were saying. It was all just moans and cries to our ears. There was no more time to spend. We heard footsteps and fled.”

The scout brothers returned to the elvish army encampment, and gave Haldir a general account of the number of orc troops, but they had gone to Glorfindel to tell him about the captured elves. “We knew Lord Glorfindel would want to know, and the marchwarden had too many other things to worry about. His orders were to remain outside of the fortress until most of the orcs were destroyed. Haldir would not risk his companies fighting on the enemy’s terms. Now I know why. The inside of the fortress is a labyrinth of twists and turns, easy to become lost, trapped and ambushed. Perhaps that’s how those elves were captured to begin with. My brother and I were just lucky we found our way out. I’m not sure I could find that room again though.”

Erestor finished speaking with the scout. He had found out all he needed to know. Actually, he had already known this might happen, as another part of his vision came to life. The scouts may not know how to get back to the cells, but Erestor knew. He’d seen it. He knew the way. He knew the door that the scout spoke of, though he said nothing about it seeming to be alive and breathing. That had been just part of the nightmare, but the elves captured and held prisoner were real. The trap was set then, and everything he had told Glorfindel did nothing to stop it from happening. This was exactly what the Witch-king wanted. The Nazgúl lord captured and imprisoned elves knowing Glorfindel would come to set them free.

“Damn it, Glorfindel,” Erestor said under his breath, “I warned you and still you do not listen.”

Shouts from another captain reached Erestor’s ears, “Assume positions! The enemy sends reinforcements! Prepare for the next wave!”

Erestor turned to the elf at his side, “What does this mean? Are we not going into the fortress?”

“As long as there are orcs to fight out here, we will not go inside. It’s too hazardous, too many hidden dangers lurk beyond those gates. Haldir will not send us in until he is absolutely sure that the threat out here has been taken care of. Even then, he only send in special troops, scouts who will know how to navigate the confusing halls within,” the elf informed.

This was bad news indeed. Erestor was counting on the Lothlórien armies to enter the castle. With the fortress under siege, Glorfindel might be safe from the Witch-king. Now, Fin would be alone searching for the imprisoned elves, and possibly walking into a trap. Left with little choice, the counselor knew there was nothing else to be done but to go and find Fin before it was too late. He berated himself for not keeping a better eye on the elf lord. He knew Glorfindel better than anyone, knew he would disobey Haldir and go alone. The scouts he sent in earlier were part of his plan. He must have given them a description of the castle based upon Erestor’s vision. That’s how they found the secret door. Now, with the diversion of another attack, Fin was able to slip away, not only from Haldir and his orders, but from Erestor, who swore not to leave his side. The counselor cursed Glorfindel again, and slipped unnoticed through the preparing crowd of elves, eventually finding himself at the second level and the dark entrance of his dream. He pushed the door open and went inside, cautious of his surroundings. Glorfindel was somewhere within, and hopefully Erestor was not too late.


	10. Lair of the Witch-king

Upon entering the fortress, Erestor was transported to his vision. He’d been here before, done exactly what he was doing now, and seen what his eyes were seeing before him. The smell of mold and rotted sewage was the same. He took care not to touch any of the walls, remembering the feel of cold slime. He must concentrate though. When he was brought here through his vision, he was pulled along, not needing to remember directions. Now, if he wanted to get himself and Glorfindel out quickly, he had to pay close attention to the halls.

Erestor looked for anything that might be easily remembered, a particular lamp, an odd shaped doorway. Even some of the stones that made up the walls took on some familiarity. And then he reached a hidden alcove. He couldn’t remember this from his dream for it had not been there. Something pulled at him, wanting him to pull back the leathery curtain that hid its secrecy. It was not important, he told himself. It hadn’t been a part of his vision. Neither had dozens of other doors and halls, but none of those called to him as this place did. Erestor’s fingertips brushed along the texture of the curtain. It felt smooth and fairly thin. Lines ran here and there, sometimes connecting, sometimes branching off in different directions. Why did it seem so familiar? He touched one of the lines and found that it was raised, as though embroidered, but there were no stitches. It was just as smooth as the rest of the fabric. Something hard beneath the material then, sewn between the layers? What an odd thing, he thought until his mind made the connection with the feel. He jerked his hand away quickly when he realized what the curtain was, leathery … yes, but not from a cow’s hide, not fabric, not embroidery, but cured flesh and veins. This was part of a wing from a beast like the one in his vision, like the one the Witch-king rode upon. Had he found the lair of the Nazgûl himself or did this lead to some secret torture chamber. Some unseen force still pulled him to enter, to draw back the winged curtain and find out what was hidden in the darkest parts of Dol Guldur, but he fought it with every inch of will power he had.

“No,” he whispered in defiance, “No.” He took a step backwards, finding his feet unwilling to move, as though they were permanently affixed to the stone floor. His boots slide along the uneven surface, feeling like they were made of lead. Erestor began to panic, his breath rapid, but his attention stayed focused upon the alcove. Finally, movement returned to normal, and he took the opportunity to turn and run until he knew he was far away from this spot. But as he turned and took his first step, something caught him by the arms, holding him in a vice-like grip. His hand felt for the hilt of his sword that hung at his side, but before he could draw his weapon, his captor spoke.

“Erestor, what—” Glorfindel started, but he was silenced by Erestor’s hand.

“Quiet you fool!” he demanded. “Get away from here.”

“Why, what have you found?” Glorfindel asked as he peered over Erestor’s shoulder.

He didn’t what to tell him what he felt. Glorfindel would not resist the urge to find out what was behind the curtain, “It’s not the way. This place was not in my dream, but I know where to go from here. It’s not far.”

“So you knew I was here?” Glorfindel asked as Erestor led the way down the hall.

“Yes, and I knew you’d ignore orders and come on your own. You used me, Fin. You found out all I knew about this place from my dreams, then you sent your scouts with a mental map of my visions. And now, when I told you not to go from my sight, I find you here in the very place that I said could be your deathtrap,” Erestor scolded.

“I admit to my deceit,” Glorfindel said sincerely, “But at the same time, I’ll admit that I’m glad you were angry enough to come after me. You were right about this place; it is tricky. I was lost when I heard a scuffling noise coming from this hallway, and here you are.”

Erestor thought he heard a bit of fear in the elf lord’s tone, something he’d never heard before, “That’s what this place does. It confuses the mind. I don’t blame you for feeling a bit anxious.”

Glorfindel dared to smile, if only slightly, “It’s not this place, meldanya, but the wrath of the March warden, Haldir, once he knows I ignored his orders.”

Of course, Erestor thought, always finding humor in a situation, but this was no laughing matter, “We must leave. It is too dangerous. More enemy troops are coming. Even if we could rescue the prisoners, we’ll have nowhere to take them with a battle going on outside, and we cannot stay within the fortress. We’ll be found for sure.”

Glorfindel, with his mind for war, disagreed, “This is the perfect time. All the attention will be on the battle, not inside the fortress. You said there was a back way out of here. We’ll slip out that way, and no one will be the wiser.”

It seemed like a foolish plan, but Erestor knew Glorfindel would follow it out with or without his help. Better with it, though, since he knew the way out. He would not argue at this point for it would be folly. Once Glorfindel set his mind to something, there was no stopping him. Erestor sighed in resignation, “Fine, this way then.”

Left, right, left twice, right, left again, down a set of stairs, and there it was looming in the distance … the wooden door. As they approached, Erestor’s heart beat so fast, he thought it would fail him at any moment. There had been no sight or sound of anyone else in the castle, and that gave the elves an uneasy feeling. It was because of the battle, they told themselves. The muffled sound of war was evident as they made their way through the fortress.

They were approaching the door when Erestor stopped. Glorfindel looked back at him and waited. Finally, Erestor spoke, “I hadn’t told you about this. I didn’t find it important at the time, but in my dream, the door was alive, cloaked in flesh, living and breathing, crying in pain, groaning with pleasure. I think it is a sign of what we will find behind it.”

Glorfindel was silent a moment, then came to stand at Erestor’s side, “You should know what it is we might find.”

“I already know, tortured elves, horridly tortured souls,” Erestor responded.

“Have you ever witnessed the affliction bestowed upon an elf held too long in captivity?” Glorfindel asked.

“No, but I have read firsthand accounts in the library and—”

“No matter what you have read, words cannot prepare you for what you might be about to see,” Glorfindel interrupted. “They are changed from the inside out. When the soul begins to die, but the body is kept alive, they morph into hideous creatures. There is no saving those affected beyond reversal.”

Erestor knew what that meant, and he instantly thought of the story Glorfindel told him about his friend, Taryon from Gondolin, the one who was beyond saving after repeatedly being raped and having pieces of his flesh stripped away and devoured while he yet lived. His soul was already dying when Glorfindel and Astarion found him draped over a cart. It was Astarion who ended their friend’s suffering, saving Glorfindel from the agony of looking into those tormented eyes, and mercifully killing a close friend.

“Let’s hope they have been recently captured,” Erestor said quietly.

Glorfindel reached out and barely touched the door. Erestor felt his insides coil, remembering warmth of flesh. Fin looked over his shoulder, “It’s only wood.” He pushed the door slowly, finding it unlocked, and it swung quietly on its hinges.

Inside, they found cells lined against one wall. A few had elves locked inside, but most were empty. The prisoners saw Glorfindel and ran to the iron bars of their cages. It was a good sign. They were not so tortured that they were incomprehensible. They hadn’t been here long, but long enough to see the fear in their eyes. Erestor went to them while Glorfindel searched for a key or something to use to break the locks.

“What is your name?” Erestor asked one elf. He seemed the most aware, though his face was pale and cheeks sunken.

“I am Raegnir, and these others were in my company. We were traveling past the Rhovanion, and though we knew not to enter the dark woods, were ambushed. Most of my men perished in the fight, but those of us who survived were taken captive.”

“How long have you been here, Raegnir?” Erestor asked. As he listened to the man’s story, he looked into the other cells. They all seemed to be in a similar condition.

“It’s difficult to say, three maybe four months,” the elf answered. “Are you going to get us out of here?”

Glorfindel was at Erestor’s side with a key, “If this is the right one, then you’ll be out in a moment, but we must hurry. Are any of your men injured?”

“I think we can walk. Our injuries are not physical,” Raegnir said, “The nightmares, do you think they will go away once we leave?”

Erestor could only imagine what they had been subject to, but he was glad they weren’t too shaken, “I’m afraid I cannot answer that. There is no telling what kind of dark magic was used upon you and your men, but it’s possible you were being used for information since your injuries are limited.”

Glorfindel tried the key and it worked. He released the prisoners, seven in all, and started to lead them from the room, when Raegnir stopped him, “There are others, somewhere in the fortress, but I do not know where. We hear them sometimes, but whoever they are, they have been here far longer than us. They wail and moan,” Raegnir shook his head as if he could hear them now, “It is not the sounds of the injured or dying. It is the cries of the hopeless. Whatever has happened to them, they are not who they once were.”

A shiver ran down Erestor’s spine. Were these the elves that were kept alive for the breeding of the orc army, or were they alive for other reasons? While he pondered, he looked over to find Fin speaking with Raegnir. He could just hear Glorfindel giving him directions. “What are you doing? We can’t send them alone. We must go with them to make sure they get out safely.”

“If there are others here, I will not leave them,” Glorfindel said, “Raegnir and his men will find their way. I have told them what to look for and where to go once they leave.”

Erestor was surprised that Glorfindel did not recruit him to lead this debilitated group of survivors to safety, but he wasn’t going to mention it. He wouldn’t have gone anyways, and now was not the time for an argument. Instead, Erestor retrieved a small knife that he kept hidden in his boot, and gave it to Raegnir. Glorfindel took his extra knife and a dagger from his belt, and handed it to two other elves. Then he put a comforting hand on Raegnir’s shoulder, “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

As soon as the rescued elves were gone, Glorfindel turned to Erestor, “The doorway where I found you earlier, I think it might lead somewhere, perhaps to the place where the rest of the prisoners are being held. I … felt something, as though I was meant to go that way.” 

“I felt it too,” Erestor said somberly, “But I was not fool enough to act on the insistency.” Something felt very wrong about the whole thing, and he did not hesitate to tell Glorfindel what was on his mind, “This could be it, the trap from my dreams, to lure you away into the mouth of the castle where the Witch-king will clamp his jaw onto you and never let you go. Do my warnings for you safety mean nothing to you?”

“That is a chance I will have to take,” Glorfindel countered, “I will leave none behind, even if it means putting an end to someone’s misery. The Nazgûl shall not inflict any more pain on any elf, no matter what.”

“You are the most unreasonable, resolute … difficult elf I have ever known,” Erestor shot back. “And if you said you were walking into the fiery chambers of Sammath Naur, I would follow you without hesitating.”

Glorfindel smiled and his eyes shone with amusement, “I know and I am glad you are with me.”

“And you know you had no choice in the matter,” Erestor added.

“I’ll let you believe that, meldanya,” Glorfindel replied, “Now let’s be going while we still have a chance.”

They reached the secret doorway quickly and drew their swords. Glorfindel used his to cut down the fleshy curtain. Neither elf wanted to know the feel of the beast’s wing again. The alcove turned out to be a dark tunnel. Erestor had grabbed a torch before going inside, so that they would have something to light the way into what felt like the bowels of Dol Guldur. The stench of filth and rot was almost too much. Erestor held his arm over his mouth and nose, hoping that he would eventually adjust to the smell or that it would become less pungent as they went deeper.

“It feels as though we are on a decline,” Erestor mentioned as he followed Glorfindel.

“I believe we are going underground. Dol Guldur is much larger than I had imagined. There was no mention of any chambers below the bottom floor,” Glorfindel said, remembering what he’d seen on the maps.

“Those were elvish drawings, from the Silvans who occupied this place before it was besieged. These dungeons were probably added after Sauron took ownership.”

“You are probably right,” Glorfindel nodded, “You know much more about these things than I do.”

“It is just a guess. We have no knowledge of what Sauron does until it’s too late.”

“The same could be said about elves. The eye of the dark lord only sees so far.”

Erestor wished that were true, “But that is what his spies are for. The rancid beasts of the forest, the orcs, the Nazgûl … they are all his eyes and ears.”

“That may be true, but you, Librarian, hold a great wealth of knowledge. I have lived in both Valinor and Middle-earth, yet you have told me about things that I had never known. Your natural modesty keeps you from seeing your full potential. It is as though you are a living book of history.”

Erestor huffed, “And that is my great power?” It didn’t seem like such a great thing though. “Too many hours spent reading and researching, that’s what it has been.” He was about to go on when Glorfindel held up his hand, stopping them from going any further. Erestor stopped and waited in silence.

“There is a breeze,” Glorfindel finally said, “Coming from this direction.” They had stopped at a fork in the tunnels. Either way was more darkness, more stench, but Fin had pointed to the right.

Erestor felt the slight movement of air flowing from that direction. He nodded with agreement, “That way then.”

The ground had evened out a ways back. They were no longer going down, but staying on a steady level path. “I do not think we are too far below. Maybe there is another way out,” Erestor said.

“Let us hope so. I don’t like the thought of going back through the tunnels,” Glorfindel mentioned.

Finally, they could go no further. A gate stood before them, thick iron bars blocking their path. The room in which it led into was dark. The only light came from the flicker of their torch, but it was enough to see that there were many doors lining the opposite wall.

Erestor looked around at the gate. It was solidly made. There would be no way to get past it … unless—

“Glorfindel, do you still have that key?” he asked, but the clicking of the lock was his answer.  
Glorfindel pushed the gate open, and they carefully entered the dark room. The torch showed them that it was round with a domed ceiling, no windows at all, only these solid doors. It seemed that the way they came would be the only way out, unless one of the secret heavy doors led to another tunnel or hallway.

“What do you suppose this place is?” Erestor asked, but he was afraid he already knew the answer.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Glorfindel answered, “We must check in every room.” He looked at Erestor for a long moment, as though he was making up his mind about something. “Keep your sword at the ready.”

Erestor nodded and they walked to the closest door. There were no locks, only an iron rod that slid into a pocket. These doors could not be opened from the inside. Erestor pulled on the rod until the door opened freely. Inside, was complete and utter darkness. Glorfindel took the torch and stuck it through the crack of the door. Something moved in the corner, and the rattling of chains was the only sound they heard. Whatever was in here was shackled.

Glorfindel raised the torch over his head, trying to illuminate more of the small room, and the figure in the corner made a whimpering noise as it shook violently from fear, crouched into a ball. Erestor narrowed his eyes and stared at it. The skin was deathly white. The body was severely emaciated. Long straight hair as white as the skin covered its nakedness. But it was the shock of discovering the pointed ears that stuck out of the thinning hair that pierced a hole in Erestor’s heart. This creature was, or used to be, an elf. He gasped as the realization struck out at him.

“They are all elves,” Glorfindel whispered, “If there are any more to be found.”

“Why? Who would do such a thing?” Erestor asked, his own voice in a whisper.

“To ruin them, steal their souls, use them for whatever purposes Sauron had in mind. It is said that the first orcs were tortured elves. Because we are immortal, there are ways to keep us alive, but drain the essence of what makes us elvish from our very hearts. This poor creature has not transformed into the hideous beasts that we fight. Most orcs are descendants of those first ruined elves, but the practice of transformation has not been abandoned.”

“Can we help him?” Erestor wondered.

Glorfindel did not answer, but he walked further into the room. The prisoner covered his head with his hands, as though trying to hide. Glorfindel handed the torch to Erestor, who lowered it, trying to dull its intensity. Then Glorfindel approached the figure, sword held at the ready. He spoke softly in Quenya, “I am Lord Glorfindel, and we are here to set you free. No more harm will come to you.”

The ruined elf lowered his arms until the white knuckles of his hands dragged on the ground. Then his head turned to the side as he looked at Glorfindel. Erestor moved so that he could see the face, but his blood ran cold when he looked into the empty black holes where the eyes should have been. Even Glorfindel started at the sight, repulsion being a natural reaction to such a thing. But the elf lord collected himself quickly and asked, “We will lead you from this place, if you so choose it. Tell me how I may help ease your suffering.”

The elf opened his mouth to speak, but only a gurgling sound emerged from him. Glorfindel closed his eyes and turned his face away. He opened them, and looked up at Erestor, slowing shaking his head from side to side. Someone had gouged out the eyes and cut off the tongue of this elf, leaving him blind and mute. The next thing that happened made Erestor’s stomach clench tight as he felt bile rise to his throat. The elf felt around with his hand until it came upon the cold steel of Glorfindel’s sword. Then he felt along the length until he found the sharp tip. His hand lifted the end of the sword, and he brought it to his chest, lining it up with his heart. It was obvious that this tortured being wished for death as his means of escape.

Glorfindel sighed and bowed his head, “Is there nothing else I can do for you?”

The elf made a pitiful moan, shook his head and kept the blade’s point directed at his heart. He was begging for a mercy kill. Glorfindel kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, and with the other, he cupped his hand behind the elf’s head, “May your soul find its way to the Halls of Mandos, and might his judgment be fair and swift.” With that, Glorfindel thrust the sword into the elf’s chest, angling it between the ribs where it would impale the heart. Death came silent and swiftly as the tortured elf died before them. Then, Glorfindel lowered the body to the floor and carefully removed his blade. He whispered something that was too low for Erestor to hear, but he thought it to be a prayer of some sort, maybe something said for such a situation.

The sight was too much for Erestor, and he calmly left the room, only to find himself heaving the contents of his stomach on the floor. When he recovered, Glorfindel was standing next to him. His blade was wiped clean, all evidence of the killing left in the cell.

“The first time is the hardest,” Glorfindel commented.

“You’ve done mercy killings before?” Erestor asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Glorfindel nodded, not something he was willing to admit, but this definitely was not his first time. “It never gets any easier.” He went to the next door, but Erestor hung back this time. Glorfindel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “Stay here.”

Erestor would not argue. The sight of the first elf had implanted itself into his mind. He was still trying to comprehend what he had seen, and he was not ready to move on just yet. He watched as Glorfindel entered the next cell, closing the door part way. Erestor could hear him ask the same question, then the sound of his sword leaving its sheath, a muffled cry and then silence. He did this for the next two cells, leaving each one alone with no survivor following him out. When he came out of the fourth cell, he just stood there, unmoving, looking at the ground at his feet. Erestor felt like he should do something to ease this burden that Glorfindel bravely accepted as his own to spare the counselor of the nightmares this would surely leave behind.

“Are they … all the same?” he asked, “Eyes and … tongue?” Glorfindel nodded but remained silent. Perhaps he couldn’t stand to hear the sound of his own voice right now. Erestor thought that he wouldn’t want to either.

After a moment, Glorfindel reached for the bar of the fifth and final door. Erestor could feel his hesitancy and knew it was wrong to let him continue without reprieve, but could Erestor do this. Could he execute another elf, even if it was out of mercy to end their suffering? He had killed before, of course, but never one of his own kin. Still, he must remind himself that these beings were not who they once were. They were ruined, tortured beyond repair. They longed for the solitude of death, welcomed the silence it would bring them. Anything would be better than the place in which they now dwelt, physically or mentally.

“I’ll take this one,” Erestor’s voice came out in a croak.

“No, I can’t let you—”

“You cannot do this all on your own, and I know this is what they want,” Erestor said as he approached Glorfindel and laid a hand on his shoulder, “I can do this … for their sake. You were right, they should suffer no more.”

Erestor hadn’t remembered ever seeing Glorfindel look so defeated. The elf lord was a constant symbol of strength and perseverance, but now, in this moment, he was as vulnerable as Erestor had ever seen. If there weren’t others to attend to, the counselor would have cradled Fin in his arms like a child needing comfort from the harsh reality that surrounded them. And neither did Glorfindel put up a fight. Instead, he sunk to his knees, laid his head upon Erestor’s thigh, and began to weep for those whose lives he had just extinguished. Erestor’s hand fell upon the gilded head as he looked down at his love. Then he closed his eyes and prayed silently, “Should there be just one who will walk out of this place with us, let him be behind this next door.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Glorfindel’s head. Then he walked to the last door. His hand grasped the bar and began to slide it.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel called, “Remember to go between the ribs and angle upwards with a hard thrust.” These were the only words of wisdom or comfort he could think of at the moment.

Whatever bile was left in Erestor’s stomach started to rise again, but he swallowed hard, nodded and opened the door. The smell that flowed out was indescribable, not just the mixture of sweat and filth, but something else that Erestor could not explain. He remembered caring for a sick and dying man once, many years ago. Just before death took him, his body had a similar aura, as though the flesh were already dying, but not like that of decay. It was perhaps the scent of disease, how the human body could destroy itself from the inside out, fruity and sweet, yet sour … an awful smell that Erestor would never forget. That was what he smelled now, very strong and it made his flesh crawl. What or who was in here?

Erestor stepped into the cell, the torch in one hand and his sword in the other. He allowed he eyes to adjust to the darkness, the torch casting shadows as they flickered about on the walls. 

This time it was different. There was a figure sitting in a chair. His head was bowed so that his chin rested upon his chest. Long dark hair spilled forward, thin and unkempt. Most of it seemed to have fallen out. His skin looked very pallid, lacking any vitality as though he were a living corpse. He wore only a loincloth, and Erestor could see how frail the elf’s body was. Every rib showed, every bone in his arms and legs. His eyes were sunken in and black around the edges, at least he still had his eyes. His lips were cracked and flaking. He was nothing more than a skeleton covered by a paper-thin layer of flesh, an elf not of the living, but not allowed to die.

Erestor carefully stepped towards him and placed the torch into its holder on the wall. He bent down on one knee and observed the elf, but the body did not move or acknowledge his presence. “Can you speak?” Erestor asked and after a long moment, the head nodded slowly. “My name is Erestor and I’m from Rivendell. I am here to help you.”

“Help? There is no one who can help me now. I am beyond saving,” the elf said. His voice was a choked whisper.

“I am prepared to give you a merciful death if that is what you seek,” Erestor made known.

Strangely, the elf began to laugh and sputter as it turned to a cough, “Death should have been my fate long ago, but here they will not let me die.” He lifted his head and his eyes rolled up to meet his visitor.

Erestor gasped involuntarily when he saw that there was no color in the eyes, nor was there a pupil. They were milky white, empty where there had once been a portal to a soul. What had they done to this poor ellon? “How long have you been here?” Erestor asked.

“Well, I … I don’t know exactly. Sometimes I am still in Gondolin. Then the voices come and remind me that my home fell, but they won’t tell me when.” The elf stopped and watched Erestor. “I don’t remember seeing you before. It’s been a very long time since they sent me a new visitor.”

“I am not here for a visit, as I said earlier. I am here to help you if you so desire,” Erestor reminded the confused elf.

“It is too late for me, but Gondolin … go and fight for my home,” the elf said.

“No, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. This is not—” Erestor was interrupted by Glorfindel, who had come into the room.

“Are you from there?” Fin asked.

The imprisoned elf turned his head towards the new voice, “Yes, yes I am. Have you heard any news? They tell me horrible things, but I refuse to believe it. I am a soldier … of the House of the Golden Flower.”

Erestor’s mouth dropped open as he looked back at Glorfindel. He had been the captain of that house. This could very well have been one of his men, but that had been millennia ago. “Glorfindel?” he started, but the elf lord put a finger up to his lips, silencing the counselor.

“Glorfindel,” the elf repeated, hearing the name. He shook his head almost violently, as though he was trying to shake off some unbearable memory. “No … No! He is dead. He is dead!” the crazed elf demanded.

“And why do you think that?” Glorfindel asked.

The elf’s voice was soft and almost inaudible as he answered, “Because if he had survived, he would have come. We had made a pact a long time ago, oh such a long time. I can feel it in my bones, you know. It has been much longer than I know.” His head bowed down against his chest again and he became silent.

Erestor moved next to Glorfindel and whispered in his ear, “He is confused. One moment he thinks war is still being waged in Gondolin, and the next he seems to be in the present.”

Glorfindel ignored Erestor and went to the tortured elf. He knelt down before the poor soul and looked at him long and carefully. Finally, he let out a gasp of surprise, “Blessed Valar!” he said in a desperate whisper. “Tell me soldier, what is your name?”

Without lifting his head he mumbled his answer, “Astarion.”

“But … it cannot be. I saw you sacrifice yourself to the orcs,” Glorfindel said amazed, “You … I thought you had died back there … back in the tunnel.”

Astarion lifted his head, his empty eyes settling on the elf lord, “The passage … Idril’s Secret Way.”

“Yes, yes that was it.”

Two bony hands reached out and lightly touched the bewildered face before him. Astarion’s lip began to tremble as he made the realization, “Then it really is you. Glorfindel?”

“Astarion,” Glorfindel said and he took the elf into his arms, cradling the skeletal figure against his breast as the other cried.

Erestor watched the scene unfold before him, feeling like an intruder, but while he wasn’t part of the reunion, he found himself wondering how this could be. Astarion had lived in Valinor, before the Fall of Gondolin. How could he have survived captivity and torture through all these millennia? Surely he should have faded centuries ago. And how did the enemy happen to transport him to Middle-earth? But what really plagued his mind was what had been done to this poor ellon and how changed had he really become. The latter question was about to be answered.

As Glorfindel held Astarion, he hadn’t seen the change happening to the elf’s countenance. Erestor could see from where he stood. The vacant foggy eyes were now rimmed in red, as though blood filled the outer edges. The trembling lips clamped tight into a thin line, and then a smirk escaped the corner of his mouth. The elf spoke, but his sorrowful voice did not match the malice that fell upon his face.

“All these long centuries, I thought you were dead. You had to be, I told myself, for the mighty Captain of Gondolin would never leave an elf to ruin. And now, here you are, looking so vigorous and solid,” Astarion said.

Erestor kept a sharp eye on the change happening while Glorfindel was oblivious to it. He still held Astarion in his arms while he spoke, “I saw you give your life to the orcs. You dropped your weapon and offered yourself to them. I called to you … told you to run, but you just stood there. And then you were gone, swallowed up by the feral mob.”

“And you thought they killed me? Did you not see what they did to their victims? Do you not remember looking into the horrified eyes of our friend as they raped him? Taryon stared straight into my soul as I ended his suffering, my arrow lodging into his head. I expected you to do the same for me when the time came, but you let them have me. I waited and hoped that you’d come. To die by the hand of the mighty Glorfindel would have been a most honorable death, but you never came. You left me to them, the black masses of orcs.”

“No,” said Glorfindel, defending his action of so long ago. “Even if I could have gotten to you in time—”

“You … did … not … come!” Astarion yelled, carefully pronouncing every word. Then he opened his mouth and let out a primitive shrill.

Erestor watched the mouth spread unusually wide, producing pointed teeth, as the empty eyes glowed blood red in the light of the torch. Then they focused on Glorfindel’s neck where the veins were close to the surface. Erestor, without much time to think, withdrew his sword and shouted, “Glorfindel, get away from him.”

At the same moment, Glorfindel released is hold on Astarion, pushing the seemingly frail body away to get a better look at what was happening, but it was too late. The vicious mouth was about to clamp onto his neck.

Remembering the first imprisoned elf’s reaction to the brightness of the flame, Erestor snatched the torch from the wall as he advanced. He waved the flame and cried out. Astarion released Glorfindel and covered his eyes. Erestor was there faster than one could blink, shoved Glorfindel out of the way, and pinned Astarion to the chair with the point of his sword aimed at the thin white throat. He narrowed his eyes menacingly at the sickly elf, “You will not touch him.”

Astarion hissed and recoiled from the light, which seemed to have a better effect than the sword’s point that was trained on him.

“Erestor, stand down!” Glorfindel demanded.

“He tried to rip out your throat! He is not the same elf you once knew,” Erestor demanded.

The redness in Astarion’s eyes faded back to an empty white. The harsh lines of his face receded and softened. His demeanor changed back to the pitifully helpless elf they had first encountered. Then his hand came up, his finger tapping Erestor’s blade, “Please, give me the mercy of death. I cannot go on like this any longer.”

Erestor stared at Astarion while his breath returned to normal, “You heard him, Glorfindel. He asks for death.” He turned his sword so that the edge of the blade ran parallel to the throat. A quick slash and it would all be over.

“No!” Glorfindel yelled, and he grabbed Erestor from behind, throwing him down. The counselor’s head hit the stone floor and his sword flew from his hand. The room started to spin as his vision went in and out of focus, threatening to lose consciousness.

What was happening? Erestor thought as he lay on the floor. Glorfindel was kneeling in front of Astarion once more, telling him that he would not kill him as he asked. Astarion was arguing with him, demanding that his life end now before the evil could surface again. Erestor tried to tell Glorfindel to listen to Astarion, but he could not form any words.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind and the room lit up with an unearthly glow. Erestor could not hold consciousness much longer, but long enough to see what illuminated the room. It all happened so fast. The ghostly image of a corpse dressed in the ancient robes of a king floated close to the ceiling. Astarion looked up with his white eyes and shuddered at the sight. At the last, Glorfindel followed his friend’s line of sight and saw the ghost, crown imbedded into his skull, eye sockets empty and black. In his hand, he held a blade. Erestor recognized it right away.

“The Witch-king of Angmar,” he tried to warn, but it came out as a whisper.

Glorfindel had obviously made the connection right away. Erestor watched as the elf lord rose to his feet, sword in hand, and eyed the ghost, “You’ll not bring harm to him or any being ever again.” He stood before the Witch-king without fear, terrifyingly beautiful. “Go back to your master and tell him that Dol Guldur has fallen.”

The Witch-king laughed, the bellowing sound resonating around the cell, around the room outside, shaking the very stones of the fortress. “I was not prepared the first time we met, but that did not matter much. I eventually got what I wanted and Eärnur fell. It is much too easy to bend the will of men. Elves, on the other hand, are much more complicated, but I adore their longevity. Isn’t that right, Astarion?”

The tortured elf quaked with fear, but he answered as he was taught to do, “Yes, my lord, I am here to serve you in whatever way you see fit.”

Glorfindel brought his sword in front of him and glared with an icy stare at the Witch-king, “You’ll not harm him ever again.” Then he swung out at the apparition. The Witch-king disappeared into thin air, and regenerated behind Glorfindel.

“You have no power here within these walls,” the Nazgûl claimed and he blew poisonous fumes towards Glorfindel. The elf lord dropped to the ground, choking and wheezing, but he tried to crawl back to Astarion.

The Witch-king abandoned Glorfindel and turned his attention to Erestor, who was still trying to maintain consciousness. The horror of knowing his vision had come to pass struck at the center of his heart. This was the moment he had feared since the sight of his nightmare. He would overcome Glorfindel and steal him away to use as a weapon against the armies.

“Glorfindel!” Erestor cried, finally finding his voice.

The Witch-king seemed amused, “And you, Librarian, played right into my hands. Do not worry about the ancient one. He will not suffer long. It was never my intention to use him. It was you all along.”

Erestor tried to get up, but the dizziness was too much and his head ached where it hit the floor. “Get away or I’ll cut your throat.”

The Nazgûl laughed again, but he continued to float towards Erestor. “Fool, there is no weapon you possess that can harm me. I am of the Unseen world. Now,” he said as he hovered above Erestor, “are you prepared to join me in this world? You will be very powerful, should you choose to. You see, Librarian, your knowledge, once you become a Nazgûl, will know no end. Just think, everything you have absorbed in the libraries of Imladris, the stories, the war strategies, the myths and the truths, people of the past and prophesies of the world to come … all of that will benefit my master’s cause. He will know all that you know and Middle-earth will be ours. All you have to do is join me in the underworld, and you will be invincible, stronger than anyone the Valar could put forth,” he claimed as he gestured to Glorfindel, who was struggling to breathe where he lay on the floor.

“No!” Erestor demanded, “I will never join you. I will see you vanquished back to the world in which you came.” Somehow, Erestor managed to get to his knees and raise his sword, but the Witch-king countered the attack with his own blade, shattering Aicalango into tiny silver shards. Then the Nazgûl raised his Morgul blade and brought it to Erestor’s chest.

“I have only to stick you with my dagger and you will become like me, willingly or unwillingly,” the Nazgûl leader claimed.

Erestor could feel the point touch his skin, feel the unbearable heat from the poison. Only a tiny slice would be enough, once his blood mixed with the poisoned magic. Suddenly, it all made sense. It had been Erestor that the Nazgûl wanted all along. Glorfindel was merely the decoy, knowing the elf lord would not be able to resist the urge to enter the fortress and free the slaves. And, of course, Erestor would follow him wherever he went, to protect him and keep the dream from becoming a reality. He had failed miserably, fallen straight into the clutches of the wraiths. And now he would become one himself, used for his wealth of knowledge. The secrets of mankind and elvendom alike would be revealed to Sauron and he would use any and all information to rule. “To rule them all,” Erestor whispered.

The apparition smiled fiendishly. “Sleep,” he said slowly, and a white mist emptied from his mouth, falling upon Erestor. Darkness took the counselor, the waking world disappeared, and he lost all sense of existence.


	11. All That It Is and All That It Could Be

Erestor awoke slowly, his senses firing up one at a time as he did. The first thing he noticed was the sharp metallic aura of blood, fresh and abundant. He didn’t think it was his own, but he couldn’t be sure just yet.

His eyelids were heavy, but he forced himself to open them. Everything was a blur at first. The room he was in went in and out of focus, and when he tried to concentrate on seeing things clearly, his head began to pound. He realized that he must have hit his head when he fell, but it was difficult to remember exactly what happened earlier. Erestor closed his eyes and put his mind to recollecting the previous events. Slowly it came back to him, Glorfindel finding him, the enslaved elves that they set free, the hidden cells, the mercy killings, and finally … Astarion. They had found him, a shock to both Glorfindel and himself. But how, after all these millennia, had this Gondolin elf survived? What had happened to him during his incarceration? He’d tried to attack Glorfindel. He could not be trusted, for surely he was an enemy now, tortured, changed, twisted to the point of irreversibility, a weapon of the dark ones … the Nazgûl.

And there it was … the nightmare that Erestor hoped to avoid had become reality. He must regain his bearings, find Fin, and get out of this place. He forced himself to open his eyes and focus, and found that he was bound to a chair by shackles and chain, arms and legs secured to the chair.

The room he was in was dark, but he could just make out shapes. One such shape stood before him, but he couldn’t tell who or what it was. Then an orb of some kind started to glow, a swirl of blue light that grew brighter, enough that it gave just the right amount of light to see the object that stood before him. As his eyes adjusted to the pale glow, Erestor was startled and jumped backwards in his chair. Staring at him with fierce red eyes was a beast with white skin, a long serpent-like tongue, and long thin arms, which held the orb above its head. It took a moment for him to realize that the creature was not alive. It was merely an ornate stand for the glowing ball. Now it began to pulse with a brilliant sapphire blue, as though it were a living entity. Erestor could feel the globe radiating some type of energy, almost calling to him to gaze into its depths, and right away he knew what this was.

“One of the Palantíri,” he whispered to himself, one of the seven seeing stones. This must be how the Witch-king was communicating with Sauron, for the dark lord had one of the stones in Mordor.

“Its beauty is mesmerizing, is it not?” asked a deep, thick, oily voice from somewhere in the dark room.

Erestor looked around as best he could, but whoever was in the room remained well hidden. It did not matter. He knew who it was.

“The Black Captain,” Erestor whispered angrily, “The Chief of the Nine.” His ire built rapidly as a feeling of helplessness came upon him. “What have you done with Glorfindel?”

“He is safe… for the moment anyways. Do not worry for him. He is not alone. The tortured one keeps him company,” said the Witch-king. 

“Astarion? But he tried to kill Glorfindel. You cannot leave them together,” demanded Erestor, confused by the Ring wraith’s decision to put these two together.

“I had hoped that’s what would happen. Tortured beyond repair, I thought he was,” said the Witch-king, who slowly made his way out of shadow. He did not walk, but seemed to float into Erestor’s line of vision, circling around the glowing globe. The counselor saw that the Nazgûl was draped in black tattered robes that chased behind him eerily. A hood covered his head, and there was only the dark abyss of nothingness where a face should have been.

“You called him by name, so you must know him.”

Erestor shook his head. “I only know of him. I have never met him. He lived before my time.”

“Ah, then you know him through the golden one, Glorfindel,” the Witch-king said. “And I suppose you know they were lovers once upon a time.”

“That was a very long time ago,” Erestor said angrily, uneasy about discussing Glorfindel’s history with his enemy.

“It might have been, Librarian, but memories are everlasting. Does it bother you, knowing your Glorfindel is, at this very moment, comforting another’s tortured soul? He will try to save him, you know. And where will that leave you?”

“My relationship is of no concern to you,” Erestor seethed.

The Nazgûl laughed low and deep, the sound reverberating off the stone walls of the dungeon. “Isn’t it though? You think the golden one loves you and no one else, but I’m here to tell you differently. Astarion has given us much in the way of his past, and Glorfindel was very important to him. See for yourself.” The Witch-king pointed a bony finger towards the Palantir.

Erestor’s eyes followed the gesture, and he saw the orb glow brighter, colors swirling, changing like a strange mist. The colors began to take shape, and things became recognizable. The head of long, thick golden hair was unmistakable.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor whispered. He was watching him at this very moment. He sat on the floor of a cell, and in his arms, he cradled Astarion. The tortured elf was curled into himself like a fetus. Glorfindel’s hand soothed the other’s temples as he whispered elvish words of comfort, and then laid gentle kisses on Astarion’s forehead. Erestor wanted to look away, but the power of the Palantir held him to the glowing ball, and he was forced to watch and listen.

“You should have let him take my life,” Astarion said in a whimper. “I am too far gone to be saved.”

Glorfindel shook his head slowly back and forth. “I lost you once. I will not let you go again. The nightmares are over.”

“They will never stop, Glorfindel. I have changed. They have changed me. I will never be the same elf you once knew. They filled my head with delusions for so long that I cannot tell reality from dreams. You saw for yourself. I … I tried to kill you because that is what they told me to do. I fear that I will try it again,” Astarion explained.

Glorfindel huffed a laugh, “I have faced thousands of enemies who all thought they could extinguish my life, but I am still here. I hardly think that you, Astarion, my old friend, will be the one to accomplish what the others could not.”

Astarion seemed irritated by Glorfindel’s light mood. He pushed himself away from the warrior’s hold. “Do not underestimate the power of the Nazgûl. All they need to do is whisper a command, and I am under their control.”

Glorfindel took Astarion’s face into his hands, lifting the other’s white eyes to meet his own. “Listen to me, Astarion. You … will … not … kill me. No matter what they have done to you, I know deep down you still remember.”

Astarion tried to look away, but Glorfindel held him firm. “That night, in the tunnel … remember, Astarion, I know you do. There was something between us. I know you felt it, for it was strong within my own heart.”

Astarion began to shake, “No … I cannot … they will not let me remember. It hurts too much when I try.”

Glorfindel started shaking Astarion’s shoulders. “Remember, damn you. Remember what it felt like. It was not hate, nor was it vengeance or regret. I … I loved you, Astarion. I loved you, and I know in that one instant when we became one, you loved me too. And we can never kill the one we love.”

Astarion remained emotionless, as empty as his white colorless eyes. He was fighting the truth out of fear of the repercussions. Glorfindel could see it too.

“Go on,” Glorfindel yelled, “Go on and deny it, and if you can, then kill me, for in the deepest place within my heart, I know it to be true.”

Astarion’s façade began to break away. His eyes fell from Glorfindel and he began to cry. In between sobs, he spoke. “I tried to deny it. I knew I had to. I was betrothed. I had lived my whole life knowing who I was, and what I was meant to accomplish. I loved her or I would not have asked her to marry me. But that night in the tunnel, when I looked into your eyes, I saw what love really was. My heart leapt out to you in a way it never had with her, and suddenly I knew I had been fooling myself. And then, I gave myself to you, and I’d never felt so alive.”

“I felt it also,” Glorfindel said in a soft sweet voice. “For years I wished you would notice me for more than the friend that I was, but you never saw me that way. So, I kept my feelings to myself, but by the gods, I wanted you, Astarion. And then, in the tunnels, as we escaped our enemies, you revealed your true self to me. Your kiss lit me up like a beacon. I’d dreamt of it for so long, but to actually feel your lips upon mine, to feel you breathe my breath … it was bliss.”

Astarion’s eyes froze on the distant memory as though he were experiencing it all over again. “It was good, Glorfindel, all of it … the kiss, your body pressing against mine, being surrounded by your warmth … all of it.” Slowly, his face turned to meet Glorfindel’s. His lip quivered as he drew the courage to speak again. “Do you … do … you … still love me?” Astarion sounded so fragile that Glorfindel’s answer might make him shatter into a millions shards.

Glorfindel looked at him for what seemed a very long time. His mouth slowly spread into a smile, and a tear threatened the corner of his eye. “I always have, Astarion, and I always will.”

“Stop!” Erestor screamed, unable to watch anymore. “Enough!”

The glowing Palantir went cold as shapes and colors disappeared, and it turned back into an obsidian stone. The Witch-king came out of the shadows, a low deep laugh rumbling through the chamber. “Pity,” he finally said. “And you thought you were his only. Such devastating news.”

Erestor said nothing, the vision of Glorfindel cradling Astarion still fresh in his mind, the admission of love still ringing in his ears. He wished he could get away, that he could erase his mind of the things he’d just witnessed. All he found was the loathsome creature who mocked him while he was so vulnerable, and it made hatred grow in his heart.

“Ah, good. Let your hate reign true, Master of Knowledge. Feel its power. Learn from it, harness it, and you could become a king,” the Nazgûl encouraged.

Erestor laid a murderous stare upon the Witch-king. “I know what you would have of me, and I know you use Glorfindel’s actions against me. I also know that one cannot trust what he sees within a seeing stone.”

“Then you must also know that the stone shows what you most want to know. You said yourself that you were worried for him, and the stone gave you a glimpse into the present.” The Witch-king floated closer to where Erestor sat tied to the chair. He stared at the counselor from within the black emptiness of his hood. “I merely wanted you to know that you have been misguided by the golden elf. And while you have been pining over him, you have missed all the signs. He doesn’t love just you, Erestor. He’s been wasting your talents. You are happy to hole yourself up in that library, but your full power has been tamed for too long. Unleash yourself, Counselor, and join our cause. We, the Nine, will give you your rightful place among us.”

The seeing stone came to life again, this time showing images of the future. The Nazgûl were gathered around Erestor, listening to the information he gave them. The result was the destruction of Gondor, overrun with orcs. Rohan had been reduced to nothing more than a burning field. Mirkwood was encased in webs as crebain and vultures circled above in a sunless sky. Lothlórien was barren, striped of its brilliance. The mallorn trees were leafless and dead. And finally, a glimpse of Rivendell, the valley turned to char and ash. Rivers were dammed, and the empty beds glowed red with molten rock. Statues had been desecrated, transformed into hideous creatures, or destroyed completely into piles of stone. And Elrond’s house had been destroyed, remade into a blackened throne room where a solitary figure sat, surrounded by books, maps, and rolls of bloodied parchments. The Palantir focused and closed in on the figure sitting on a throne made of skulls, black sludge dripping from their empty eye sockets.

Erestor saw himself on that throne, his ashen face emotionless; his eyes dead and black like the cold Palantir. He seemed to stare off into nothingness, looking out over a ruined country now ruled by evil, ruled by him. Orcs and goblins gathered in what used to be the courtyard, all bowing their heads in respect to their new leader. Then, Erestor rose from the throne, black tattered robes waving in a hot breeze, and his followers got down on one knee. The Erestor of present could feel the power emanating from the stone. They would do anything asked of them. Erestor was their king.

For a moment, looking into the Palantir, Erestor wondered if he could ever hold such a title. To rule over the evil filth seemed like a gift, at first. The orcs would do his bidding. He could tell them to kill, to pillage, or perhaps he’d order them to their deaths. But that would be a misuse of power, he told himself.

“Would you like to see more?” the Witch-king said, interrupting Erestor’s dark thoughts. Then he waved a hand over the seeing stone. Erestor watched with anticipation, and let his conscious glide into the glass orb.

Erestor, in the vision, called to his orc captain, and whispered a command. The heavily armored, crookedly bent orc trotted off to a side room, and exited with someone wearing a burlap sack over his head. There was a rope tied around this prisoner’s neck, assuring that the sack would not accidentally fall off.

The prisoner stumbled as the orc captain dragged him to the dais. The orc kicked the figure until he was on his feet again, and then he pushed him forward with the point of his black blade dagger. The hooded prisoner fell onto his knees at the foot of the dais, directly in front of where Erestor stood.

“Who is this?” Erestor demanded of the captain.

“This is the filth we found spying at the borders,” the orc responded. “We questioned him, but he tells us nothing of any use. Says he was lost when we found him, but he was carrying this.” The orc handed a silver spyglass to Erestor.

“Lost, you say?” Erestor questioned the prisoner. Then he pulled the sack from the man’s head.

The man was scraggly looking, dirty and unkempt, malnourished, typical of the humans in these dark days. He also had the mark of a slave branded on the side of his neck, an eye wreathed in flame.

“Who owns you?” Erestor asked.

The man remained silent as he knelt, and looked at the marble step in front of him.

Erestor asked again, “Where did you come from, and who gave you this trinket?” He held the spyglass out for the man to see, but there was still no response.

Erestor turned away from the man, and walked back to his throne. He sat down with glorious grace, an arrogant king who prided himself by the amount of fear he felt from his loyal subjects. Everyone waited to see what he would do.

After a time, Erestor raised his hand, and made a shooing gesture. “He clearly has nothing to say. He is no use to me. Take him out and burn him.”

The audience of orcs grunted their approval of their king’s decision, hungry for the entertainment of a fresh kill. The orc captain stepped forward and took the man by the arm, lifting him to his feet. “Come on then, scum. We’ve got a nice pyre waiting for you, and something tells me you’re the twitchy type when set alight.” He laughed at his own wittiness.

 

The man suddenly seemed to awake from his half-conscious state, and tried to pull away from the orc. But his captor fought back, and ordered one of his assistants to help with the unruly prisoner.

“Wait! Wait!” the man yelled, and he struggled to turn around and look at Erestor.

Erestor held up a hand, signaling to the orc to stop, and he did. The dark elf’s black eyes fixed on the man. “Ah, you have had a change of heart. Now … answer my questions quickly, or it is the fire pit for you.”

The man swallowed hard. “I … I am a spy, and an escaped slave. I was sent here by the rebel forces to watch and report my findings.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes and stared through the man’s soul. After a long silence, he made his ruling. “Burn him.”

The orcs went into a frenzy at the sound of the command, cheering, but the man cried out over their vile enthusiasm. “You are making a mistake, my lord. I was sent here because I am the best. Give me a chance, and I will show you what I can do.”

Erestor let the crowd cheer a moment longer. Then he lifted his hand to them, and they silenced immediately. He stood from his throne and stepped carefully to the man, looking him over as if examining him. “What exactly are you offering me?”

“I’ll willfully give you my services. It will be easy for me to blend in with the rebels. Besides, they do not know I’ve been captured. I can be your eyes and ears. I … I already know much about their forces and where they’re stationed. I have quite a bit of knowledge. Let me live, and I will tell you everything I know.”

Erestor walked around the man in a tight circle. “How do I know you will not divulge information to the rebels about Rivendell once I release you?”

“Y … you have my word, Sire. A … and I may already be of use to you,” said the man, stumbling over his own words as he tried to bargain for his life. “I … I heard things in … in the rebel camps. They are preparing an ambush.”

Erestor searched the man’s eyes for indications of falsehood. He had become an expert at recognizing the signs, but this man was speaking the truth. Perhaps he would be of use after all. “Anyone who thinks they can befall me or any of my brethren is a fool. The Nazgûl and I see well beyond our borders. Who are these rebel troops? Tell me now and tell the truth, and I just might let you live.”

“They are a merging of elves and men who have joined forces to set upon the ruined kingdoms, and they will start with Imladris. Yours is the smallest of the realms,” the man claimed. As he divulged his information, his voice became stronger, and he seemed to stand a little straighter. Erestor noticed the man gain his confidence, as he seemed to think he was now an asset of the dark king’s court. Maybe Erestor would have him killed anyways, for his premature presumption of asylum.

“Who is their chieftain?” Erestor demanded.

The man swallowed hard, and Erestor could tell this next bit of information might change things drastically. “He … he is someone well known throughout the lands, Sire. Someone you know quite well. He … he is … his name is–”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor enunciated slowly, tasting each syllable as it rolled from his tongue.

The man quaked in front of Erestor, and verified the information by nodding nervously. Erestor smiled slowly. Long had it been since anyone had sighted the ancient elf lord. Most thought him dead, but not Erestor. There was still a connection between them, though it was barely there. It was no longer love as it had once been, but rather a seething determination to strike vengeance against his cheating heart. The day Erestor would be rid of Glorfindel would be the day they brought him his cold dead body. It was because of Glorfindel that Erestor was persuaded to cross over to the undead world of the Wraiths. So destroyed he was, his heart shattered into a million shards, that in his blind fury, he gave his soul to the Witch-king and joined the brethren of the Nine. He’d shared with them every last bit of knowledge he’d had of Middle-earth, of the kingdoms and their weaknesses, and of the weakness of their rulers. The Nazgûl used the information and gathered orc troops, invading, killing, overthrowing their sovereigns, and setting up new governments whose overseeing lord was Sauron. In exchange for all of this, Erestor was gifted with Rivendell, now dark and desolate. He was allowed to keep his precious books, and the Nazgûl gave him his own army. The only thing left unsettled was the whereabouts of Glorfindel, and now Erestor knew where to find him.

He looked out over the rotted sea of his subjects. “Gather your troops,” he said calmly to his orc captain. Then he projected his voice for all to hear. “Tonight you will have a feast of flesh. March to the rebel camps. Leave none alive. And whoever brings me the body of Glorfindel will become my new captain.”

As the crowd of orc soldiers roared with enthusiasm, the current captain looked at Erestor with concern about his ranking. “M … my lord?” he asked sheepishly.

Erestor laughed, “You have nothing to worry about. I am promoting you to Commander of the Dark Army of Rivendell.”

The orc captain’s black jagged teeth showed as he smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I will not let you down.” Then he jumped down from the dais and started barking orders to his men, already organizing troops for the attack that was soon to follow.

Erestor put a pointy finger beneath the chin of the man, still standing next to him on the dais. He tilted his head until their eyes met. The man dared not look away. “So far you have shown yourself worthy. Today, you live, but should I find that you have lied to me, I will cut out your heart.”

“Y … yes, my lord,” the man said shuddering with fear.

Meanwhile, the present day Erestor broke out in a cold sweat as he watched the scene unfold within the Palantir. He hated the fact that he could not turn away from the glow of the orb as it showed his future, should he accept the Witch-king’s proposal. But what he focused on most was the hatred he felt as he watched his alter-ego call for Glorfindel’s death. Erestor had felt jealousy in his heart long before he was captured. As a matter of fact, he’d felt it at the very moment Glorfindel uttered the name Astarion, when they’d found him in the cells. There was no denying that a part of him wished he had given the ruined elf the mercy kill he’d begged for. Anger sparked ever so slightly when Glorfindel refused to let him do this.

“Yes, hang on to that feeling,” the Witch-king encouraged. “Let it grow, Erestor. Know that he did not love only you. Had he not been taken, Astarion would be Glorfindel’s lover, not you. He would never have known you existed. He says he loves you, but it has been nothing but a lie. You can see that for yourself, now that they are in each other’s company again. You will be forgotten, Erestor, but not if you join us. We will make you a king.”

Erestor could feel a part of himself giving in to the Nazgûl’s words. He’d always held a jealous resentment against Glorfindel’s memory of Astarion, but it was miniscule, for he knew this ancient lover was long gone. Now, knowing that he was very much alive, envy, hate, and wrath was forming within his consciousness. It took hold of Erestor like a black fog clutching his heart, squeezing out that which made Erestor the kind soul he was. He knew it would change him, reshape him internally, until he forgot his true self. Vengeance would rule him eternal unless he could force these wicked thoughts from his mind.

“The Palantir feeds on our deepest darkest thoughts and shows us an alternate path,” Erestor whispered. Then he turned his head to meet the emptiness of the Nazgûl’s robe. “It is only what could happen should I choose it, but I do not. I will never join you. I would die first.”

“Such a shame,” the Witch-king said easily. “Then we’ll have to do this the hard way.” He brought his arm up, and a Nazgûl blade emerged from the wide sleeve of his tattered black robe. The sword had an ethereal glow about it, the edges jagged, and part of the hilt broken. The Lord of the Nazgûl, brought the blade to Erestor’s side. He would stab him where the poison would make Erestor succumb to the Black Breath quickly. Once dead, Erestor would become a Wraith like the others, and he would have no choice but join their legion. At least Erestor would die knowing it was not his choice to become like them.

The point of the sword sliced through Erestor’s robe, and touched his skin. It felt cold like death, and seemed to spread outward. The counselor closed his eyes, and began whispering an elvish prayer to the Valar, to forgive him for his weaknesses, and to let death come quickly.

The words seemed to disturb the Witch-king, and he stopped advancing his sword. “Stay quiet!” he shouted, but Erestor kept speaking his Quenya prayer. This angered the Nazgûl, who withdrew the sword and took a step away from Erestor. The counselor spoke louder, feeling the strength of the Valar descend upon him. Perhaps his prayer was working.

“I said be quiet!” the Witch-king yelled again. When Erestor refused, the Nazgûl roared in anger and lifted the sword above his head. He charged towards Erestor, who was still tied to the chair.

Suddenly, there came a crashing and the door to the dungeon flew from its hinges. Wood splintered and flew everywhere. The dust in the room was disturbed by the rush of air that burst in with the invaders. Erestor opened his eyes, expecting to see Glorfindel standing in the threshold, brilliantly glowing in golden hues. Somehow, Erestor thought, Fin had managed to escape, and had come to rescue him from certain death. But as the dust thinned in the air, Erestor was shocked to find, not Glorfindel, but Lastar with the two brothers that had scouted the castle earlier. They were all armed with swords and bows at the ready.

Lastar charged at the Witch-king, who was just as confused as Erestor from the unexpected interruption. As he ran, the brothers fired arrows at the Wraith, but their feathered shafts hit no target, for the Nazgûl was nothing but a dangerous apparition. Lastar jumped, bringing his sword down onto the Witch-king, who successfully blocked the downward thrust with his Morgul sword. He threw Lastar backwards with the force of his parry, and the elf went flying through the air, crashing into a table. The brothers abandoned their bows and took up their swords, attacking simultaneously. The Witch-king held them off easily.

Erestor looked to Lastar, who was slowly getting to his feet. “Are you alright?” he called from across the room.

Lastar’s lip was bleeding, and he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Fine, for the moment,” he said, and he rose from the debris, readying his sword once more.

“Lastar,” Erestor warned, “You are not a soldier.”

“I’m all you’ve got at the moment,” Lastar replied, as he watched the two brothers get thrown across the room, slamming into the wall.

“Your weapon is no use against a Nazgûl,” Erestor called, but Lastar ignored him. Erestor struggled against his bindings, trying to free himself from the chair, but it was futile. The ropes only tightened as he moved.

Lastar was halfway across the room now, when suddenly the ground trembled. A deep dark voice started speaking in the black tongue of Mordor, getting louder with every word. Lastar stopped where he was, dropped his sword and covered his ears, crying out in pain. The scout brothers curled onto their sides and did the same. Meanwhile, the Witch-king got down on one knee and bowed his head. Erestor was the only elf not affected by the Black Speech. While it could fill a man with horrible fear, and it was painful to an elf’s ears, cutting through his head like a knife of fire, it did nothing to Erestor. Perhaps it was because he could understand the language, but whatever the reason, Erestor remained untouched by fear or agony. Instead, he listened and translated the dark words. It wasn’t until he realized whose voice it was that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a chill ran through his blood. It was none other than the Dark Lord himself, Sauron.

He was calling the Nazgûl to Gondor, where he was sure they would find his secret weapon. He told the Witch-king that he had a special mission for him, upon the fields of Pelennor. Once he had his instructions, the Nazgûl floated in a hurry from the room.

The black doom of Sauron faded along with the Witch-king, and everything returned to normal … all but Erestor. As he listened and understood the words of the Dark Lord, he couldn’t help but feel an odd connection, as if he’d been touched by their black magic, and it was forever a part of him. It coiled around his heart, its teeth latching on where it would remain forever. Erestor remembered a conversation he had with Frodo, as the Hobbit recovered from an injury inflicted by the Witch-king, and possibly with the same weapon that almost cost Erestor a never ending death. Frodo had described a similar link he felt between him and the Nazgûl. He had been told that he would carry it with him for the rest of his days, and on the anniversary of his injury, it would come back to haunt him the most.

“The Palantir and the vision,” Erestor wondered. Something had transpired during his trance. That must have been it, for the vision struck at his heart as the blade had struck Frodo through flesh. Either way, it was there, that feeling of disgust, of hatred and vengeance, and it would sleep until it was roused once more.

Lastar and the elf brothers had regained their strength, and came to Erestor, cutting his binds with their blades. They were asking him questions. Was he alright? Was he injured? But there was only one thing on Erestor’s mind.

“Glorfindel, where is he?” he asked desperately.

“We found him chained in one of the cells. We sent him off with the other two of our company, to the healers,” said one of the brothers.

“The healers?” said Erestor, concerned. “What happened? Is he alright?”

The other brother came forward and continued. “He had multiple lacerations across his back. He’s been whipped with some nasty device, the cuts were deep and some still bled after we found him.”

“Who else was in the cell with him?” Erestor inquired, remembering the Nazgûl telling him that he imprisoned Glorfindel with Astarion. The thought brought back images of them together, but that had been a forced image from the Palantir. It might not have happened.

“He was alone, but he told us of another elf locked away. We found him also.” The first brother took up the conversation again, and shook his head at the memory of the ruined elf. “I’ve never seen the like. We could hardly believe it was an elf, for he looked more like some wretched creature.”

The second brother spoke now, “His eyes … they were lifeless like his soul. We have heard stories of captured elves, ravaged individuals, irretrievable, beyond rehabilitation. They are neutralized, put to death mercifully. We were prepared to do it with this one, but . . .” the elf trailed off.

“But what?” Erestor asked, looking from one brother to the other.

“Glorfindel would not let them,” Lastar said from behind. His voice was cold, as though it angered him to think of it.

Erestor remained silent. Glorfindel hadn’t let him do this duty either. For some reason, the elf lord would not let Astarion find the peace he’d asked for. Could it be true then, the conversation he witnessed between Fin and Astarion? Had the Palantir showed him the truth? The black serpent sunk its teeth deeper into his heart, trying to force up the hate, but Erestor tamed the soul-sucking leech.

With the help of the others, Erestor got up and regained his balance. He hadn’t known how long he’d been strapped to the chair, but he knew it was quite a while. “Take me to Glorfindel,” he demanded.

“But my lord–” started one of the brothers.

“Take me to him now,” Erestor commanded.

“You should get to a healer yourself,” Lastar advised.

“And you should not be here at all.” Erestor turned on Lastar, daggers shooting from his hazel eyes. “I gave orders to have you removed from the area and escorted home.”

“I slipped from their guard,” Lastar admitted, “and a good thing I did, or you might not be here right now. I came back and found the scouts. I knew they could help me find my way through the castle halls.”

They all started walking, leaving the dungeon behind. Erestor and Lastar followed the scout brothers, who knew the way back to the outside world. Erestor made Lastar walk in front of him. He found that he didn’t want the young elf’s eyes on him right now. Too many emotions were swirling through his head, and he was still angry at Lastar. More so, Erestor was angry with himself for not heeding Lastar’s warnings. It was true, all of it. Lastar had figured out the riddle of the Nazgûl, of Erestor’s dreams and the reason he’d been called to Dol Guldur. It had been Erestor they were after, not Glorfindel, but the counselor was blinded by love and desperation, and he would not listen to his apprentice. That was the reason Erestor chose Lastar to be his understudy, after all. The young elf was inquisitive, determined, a quick learner and a good listener. Lastar had read all the signs that Erestor had chosen to ignore.

“You were right,” Erestor said softly from behind.

Lastar stopped and let Erestor catch up to him. Then they walked side by side. “It was only a guess,” said Lastar, timidly.

“It was more than a guess, Lastar. It was intuition. You knew what would happen, and I ignored your findings.” Erestor walked the rest of the way without another comment until they finally stood at the exit. Then, he stopped Lastar, grasping his shoulder, placed his free hand over his heart and bowed. “Thank you,” Erestor said, and without waiting for a response, without looking at Lastar again, he left the castle and stepped into the daylight, breathing in the free air.


	12. Some Wounds Run Much Deeper

Erestor left the darkness of the castle behind, and looked out at the surrounding area. The battle was over. The area was littered with the dead. Those able to work helped to gather their fallen troops. There were too many to count. They would be buried here. The orcs were burned in a separate area, and the smell of scorched and rotted flesh permeated the senses of everyone around. The air itself had pockets of crispness in it, leaving the men feeling a touch refreshed. The darkness was lifting with the disappearance of the Nazgûl and the victory of battle. But as long as Dol Guldur stood, there would be no peace on this forsaken ground.

Two large tents has been erected side by side, giving the healers one large makeshift healing room. Erestor went there, looking for Glorfindel. The place was busy with never ending movement as elves hurried to and fro. The air took on an aura of unpleasantness, everything from sweat to vomit, from blood to spilled entrails. Erestor, not used to such things, pulled a rag from his pocket and covered his mouth, at least until he became desensitized to the miasma.

One of the elves, an elleth draped in the traditional ecru colored robes of the healers, passed him, and Erestor stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder. She looked up at him, clearly irritated, until she recognized him. Then she bowed respectfully.

“Lord Erestor, what can I do for you?” she asked politely.

“Could you direct me to Lord Glorfindel?” he asked.

“Of course. This way,” she said and walked to the other half of the canvas healing room. Erestor followed closely behind.

As they went along, she informed him of Glorfindel’s condition. “He was unconscious when they brought him here, and it was no wonder. By the look of the lacerations on his back, he’d endured quite a horrific whipping. Most others would not have survived such an ordeal.”

“Glorfindel is not ‘most others’,” he said, and she smiled lightly.

“That much is obvious.” Then she went on. “We cleaned the wounds, and we stitched the deeper cuts. I gave him a tonic to help him rest, and he has fallen into a healing sleep for now. He drifts in and out of consciousness from time to time, waking in a cold sweat, panting as though he is reliving the trying experience. I’ve given orders for someone to be with him at all times, to administer more medicine when he wakes in a panic. We don’t want him to reinjure himself.”

“If it is alright, my lady, I will sit with him a while,” Erestor said sweetly.

“That would be a great help. It will free up a healer who is better needed elsewhere. I’m afraid we have our hands full right now.” The elleth led him to the back of the tent where a special area had been curtained off. She pushed the curtain aside and gestured for Erestor to enter. Inside was an elf sitting in a chair next to a cot. Glorfindel lay on his stomach, his long gilded hair matted with dirt and grime, hanging off to one side of the bed. A thin linen sheet was pulled up to his waist, leaving his back exposed.

Erestor was shocked by the sight of raw flesh, and the openness of the wounds. The elleth sensed his discomfort, and laid a hand on his arm. “We must let the wounds breath before covering them, or they’ll fester. Once they stop bleeding and begin to dry up, we’ll bandage him. That is why we have him isolated back here in his own room. We don’t want any contamination while the injuries are open.”

“And here I thought it was because of his widespread notoriety,” said Erestor, finding a bit of humor in all the gloom.

The elleth smiled and patted Erestor’s arm before releasing him. She showed him what to do if Glorfindel awoke disoriented, and told him to call for help if he didn’t go back to sleep right away. “We are giving him a strong dose, but his body will likely build up an immunity to it after continued use. Hopefully, by then, he will be bandaged and less likely to hurt himself.”

With detailed instructions given, the healer on duty left with the elleth. Erestor took up the seat next to the cot. His eyes scanned Glorfindel’s back, and he shook his head. “What did they do to you, Fin?” he asked aloud. The lacerations were long, and they crisscrossed each other in places, the intersections being the deepest wounds. The flesh was actually cut, as though the whip had tiny blades weaved into its leather straps. This was no ordinary flogging tool used on Glorfindel. It was a Flesh-eater knout, and that was its purpose, to strip the body of its flesh, to make the victim lose great amounts of blood quickly. Death should have been swift, but Glorfindel could not be killed so easily. Close to death he might have come, but he still lived, only now Erestor asked himself who he lived for.

Erestor sat there for a very long time, just watching the sleeping warrior. He loved to watch Fin when he slept. It was the only time the elf lord seemed innocent and at peace. Even in this horrid condition, Glorfindel’s face was relaxed, almost like that of an elfling. Erestor often wondered if this was what he looked like before war had touched his soul, before all the horrors he’d endured … before he fell when he slayed the Balrog. It was a side of Fin he would never know, lost to the sands of time. Astarion would have known that side of Glorfindel, for they had been childhood friends before joining the ranks of the army. Erestor realized that Astarion knew Fin in ways he himself would never know.

His thoughts of this mysterious elf brought him whirling back to the vision within the Palantír, the way Glorfindel cradled Astarion to him, the way he comforted him. The elf lord was overly protective of this ruined elf. Clearly he must know that there could be no way to bring him back to the elf he once was. That part of Astarion was surely gone by now. He’d spent countless years imprisoned by evil, forced to repeatedly do who knew what. Elves usually would not survive the things Astarion had played victim to, and he wondered what the enemy had done to keep the elf from fading. He hardly resembled an elf now. His skin was pale and clung to his bones. His eyes were fogged with a white mist. These things and more must be permanent. And his mind had been altered, pulled out, remolded and shoved back in. There could be no unknotting the tangles left within his head. Erestor had seen with his own eyes that Astarion faded between reality and fantasy, between past and present. It seemed like torture to let him live in this decrepit state, rather than give him the mercy of peace like he asked for. Erestor thought Glorfindel was acting selfishly.

His chest started to burn as the blackness tightened around his heart. “Selfish old fool,” he complained to himself as he watched Glorfindel sleep.

It had been hours, and Glorfindel hadn’t stirred. That was a good sign. He was in a deep healing sleep then. Erestor stood from the chair, needing to stretch his legs. He walked to the bed and played with Fin’s hair. It needed to be washed or at least rinsed with clean water. He stepped out of the makeshift room and found someone to fetch what he needed. Erestor was given a pail of clean warm water and some fresh smelling herbs. It would have to do. He entered the room and got to work, washing Fin’s hair by dipping a rag into the water, and wetting his hair. Most of the dirt and dried blood came out after repeatedly scrubbing it with the cloth. The herbs did nothing more than mask the left over scent of the dungeons beneath Dol Guldur.

“Well, it’s not as thorough as washing his hair in a tub, but at least it has to feel better than before,” Erestor said to himself.

“It’s much better,” Glorfindel said with a rough cracked voice. He lifted his head and turned so he could see Erestor. His eyes were nothing more than slits, and he gave the slightest grin with what strength he had. “Where are we?”

“Just outside of the borders of Dol Guldur, in a temporary healing house,” said Erestor, picking up a dry towel and using it to finish Fin’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Glorfindel croaked. “What about you, Meldanya? Are you alright?”

Was he alright? Erestor asked himself. The experience with the Palantír and the Witch-king had left him stretched and exposed as if he would dart off at any moment. “I’m fine,” he answered tersely.

Glorfindel tried to move, but he cried out in pain.

“You shouldn’t,” Erestor warned. “Your wounds have not had time to heal yet. They still have not bandaged you either. Stay still and relax.”

Glorfindel furrowed his brow as he examined Erestor. “You do not seem yourself.”

“Neither do you for that matter.” Erestor moved closer, looking at the lacerations. “Who performed this awful act upon your person?”

Glorfindel remained silent, as though speaking of his ordeal would summon his punisher. He turned his head to the other side, looking away from Erestor.

The counselor saw Fin’s reluctance. “My guess is that it was not the Witch-king.”

“What makes you say that?” The elf lord’s voice was muffled where his arm covered his mouth.

“There would be hatred in your eyes had it been him. Instead, I see remorse. Why would you conjure such an emotion after what has been done to you?”

“Does it really matter who? It is over and done with, and I have survived yet again,” Glorfindel said irritated.

“You’re not out of harm’s way just yet. Infection is still a possibility. You’ll not be going anywhere, not until your wounds can be bandaged.” Erestor sat back down in the chair, his hair washing duty accomplished as best as he could manage with what he had to work with. He watched Glorfindel from his seat. The elf lord still would not look at him. “A Flesh-eater knout,” he said, trying to draw Fin’s attention. “A very serious choice of weapon.”

No sound, no movement, not even a flinch came from Glorfindel, and Erestor knew there was something the warrior was not telling him. He had been correct in guessing that it wasn’t the Witch-king who had administered this shockingly cruel punishment. An orc? A goblin? Possibly, but Erestor saw the deep lashes on Fin’s back. He’d been struck out of anger.

“Glorfindel,” he asked quietly. “Was is Astarion?”

The elf lord remained silent for a long while, but Erestor waited patiently for an answer. Just when he began to think he would never learn the truth, Glorfindel nodded.

“That … that monster,” Erestor seethed through clenched teeth. The insult was enough to bring Glorfindel’s attention back to the counselor.

“He was not himself,” Glorfindel defended.

“He has not been himself for a very, very long time, and I’m afraid he’ll never be what he once was,” Erestor fired back.

“You don’t know that,” said Glorfindel, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ve seen elves who endured much less and were swallowed by the darkness. Whatever Astarion has been through has left him in an abyss so deep, he’ll never find his way out. You should have let me end his–”

“Don’t threaten him! Don’t you EVER … threaten him,” Glorfindel cried out.

“Why do you protect him? He tried to kill you.” Erestor had had enough of this.

“He was being controlled. That’s what the Nazgûl do. That’s what they have done to him for centuries. Besides, you weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t there, but I saw you. I was forced to look into the Palantír, and I watched you as you held him in your arms, and cradled him like he was your lover. Oh, but how soon I forget. He WAS your lover!” Erestor accused.

“The key word being ‘was’. For millennia I thought he was dead.”

“And now that you know he is not, you’re ready to take him back.” The words came out harsh and venomous, and the black serpent within Erestor’s chest squeezed tighter. “Have you looked at him, Glorfindel? Have you really looked at him or do you still see the elf he once was? He’s been transformed into a murderous creature who would kill you at the first chance he gets. Look at you, lying here with your back shredded to the bone. Astarion did this to you, yet you defend him.”

“I have to, Erestor!” Glorfindel shouted, and then calmed. “I have to because … because I should have done so back then … and I didn’t.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Erestor again. “Leave me.”

The words cut to Erestor’s soul. Glorfindel never pushed him away. So it was true then. Glorfindel still loved Astarion after all these ages. The counselor would not argue anymore. “As you wish,” he replied, and then he left the room. As he did, the elleth healer entered the room, bringing with her an armful of wrappings. Fin would be busy for a while. Erestor decided to pay a visit to Astarion.

He asked where the elf was being held, and was met with odd looks. “What would you be wanting with him, my lord?” asked one of the guards.

“It was Glorfindel and I who found him. I would like to see what has become of him now that he is out of the dungeons,” Erestor answered.

The guard looked Erestor over carefully, and then he led him to the place where Astarion was being kept. It was nothing more than a shallow cave, two well-armed guards standing at the entrance. Obviously, none of the other elves trusted Astarion either.

The guards were hesitant, but after speaking with Erestor’s escort, they stepped aside and allowed him to enter … with strict warning. They would be watched closely by the guards. Erestor would not be able to ask anything too personal.

It was dark in the cave. Astarion sat on the dirt floor, leaning against the stone wall, his knees bent and his arms wrapped around them. His head rested on his knees, and he raised his head only enough to see over them. The white eyes glowed eerily, cutting through the darkness of the cave. They emitted their light without the help of lantern or flame. Erestor was reminded of the Palantír, and wondered if there was some connection. Could the Nazgûl see through Astarion’s vision? It was a very real possibility, and the reason he was being kept away from everyone, Erestor reconciled with himself.

“How is he?” Astarion asked, his voice not more than a faint whisper.

“You are in no position to ask about him. It was by your own hand that he is in this condition,” Erestor said sternly.

“You should have taken my life when I asked it of you, or Glorfindel would be well.”

“Do not lay blame upon me,” Erestor said agitated. “I saw the wounds. They were delivered by the hand of someone scorned. It was more than mind control of the Nazgûl. You were conscious. You were aware of what you were doing, and you executed the punishment with passion.”

“I’ll never be able to explain to you the power they have over me. I see things and I hear things, and I cannot decipher what is real and what is not,” Astarion defended himself.

“But you knew Glorfindel was in front of you. You knew that with every swing of the whip you were slicing his flesh apart. You meant to hurt him. You wanted him to feel the pain because you blame him for the torture bestowed upon you all these centuries.”

Astarion raised his head all the way, his white eyes turned to slits. “You know nothing of it, Counselor.”

“I know enough,” Erestor said calmly. “I don’t know what will happen to you, but if you should live, stay away from Glorfindel or I’ll deliver you a swift death.”

Astarion smiled sickly. “Seems I have no choice there,” he said, and raised his wrists to show the chains. “Maybe it is Glorfindel you should be scolding. After all, it was he who came to me in the castle.”

Erestor turned his back on the ruined elf and left the cave. He flew from the area with hurried tread, not sure where to go, as long as it was far away from Astarion. As much as he wanted to hate him, Erestor felt a kind of connection with him. They had both been touched by the black magic of the Wraiths, and once their darkness coiled its way in, it could not be disposed of easily. Erestor had only endured the pain of looking into the Palantír. Astarion had been transformed physically and mentally after millennia of torture, but they both knew what it felt like to have their minds taken over.

“Erestor?” someone said, bringing the counselor out of his transfixed state. He stopped and found Lastar standing before him. “Are you well?”

“I didn’t know I looked ill,” he said annoyed.

“You don’t seem yourself,” Lastar observed.

“You’re not the first one to say that either.” Erestor wondered what was wrong that it looked so noticeable. He brought his hands to his face and laid the palm of his right hand to his forehead, and then down to his cheek.

Lastar captured Erestor’s wrists, drawing his hands away from his face. “You seem worn, but then it has been a very trying time. You should take some rest. Come, sit by the fire.”

Erestor, unable to argue, merely nodded and followed Lastar to a nearby campfire. They sat on a vacant throw left by its owner. Erestor’s spine was stiff. He could not seem to relax, not after the exchange of words with Astarion. Lastar remained silent and stared into the dancing flames. Neither elf knew what to say. Finally, Lastar broke the silence.

“Is Glorfindel going to be alright?” he asked timidly. After his last exchange with Erestor, he sounded uncomfortable asking.

“His wounds will heal,” Erestor answered, unsure if Glorfindel would ever be alright completely. As he spoke, something caught his eye, and he looked over his shoulder. Glorfindel had just emerged from the healer’s tent, a new set of bandages wrapped around his torso. He was hunched slightly, and walked slowly. Erestor knew the healers would not have permitted him to do anything strenuous, even walking. Glorfindel was obviously ignoring their orders.

Erestor watched as Glorfindel’s eyes scanned the campground. They caught sight of him sitting by the fire, and Erestor’s heart leapt in eagerness. Just as quickly it sank, as the elf lord turned his sight away, and focused on the set of guards standing by the cave entrance. The warrior’s blue eyes settled once more on Erestor, as though he was weighing the outcome of his choice. The decision was disheartening when he looked to the cave once more and set off in that direction.

“Go to him then,” Erestor said softly, making Lastar look back to see what he was talking about.

“I’ve never seen such a wretched creature as that,” Lastar commented. “Who is he?”

“His name is Astarion,” Erestor answered, his mind still rummaging through the recent events.

“Astarion,” Lastar repeated. “I have seen that name. I believe he was a soldier in Gondolin, a member of the House of the Golden Flower, and second in command to–” He hesitated as he solved his own puzzle, and slowly cocked his head to the side to look at Erestor.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor finished. Then under the softness of his breath, he added, “The bastard.”

Lastar knew not what to say or how to respond. He gazed back into the fire, letting the information slowly seep into his thoughts. Erestor completed the details of Astarion’s military background, and the fact the he and Glorfindel had been childhood friends, but nothing more. However, Lastar was a very perceptive elf, and not much got past his inquisitive mind.

“Glorfindel must have thought he was dead after all these long centuries,” Lastar mentioned, solving the mystery aloud. “But to know he yet lives, and the desolate condition he is in now . . .” His words trailed off. “I was right, wasn’t I? The Nazgûl used Glorfindel to draw you into their lair, and they used the prisoner to lure Glorfindel in, hoping you would follow.”

Erestor said nothing. He barely heard Lastar speaking. All he heard was the deafening laugh of the Witch-king and Glorfindel’s last words … leave me.

Lastar saw that Erestor was not listening, and laid his hand upon Erestor’s knee. “When we found you, we also found a Seeing Stone.”

The counselor did not answer right away. The mention of the stone sent his mind reeling back to the dungeon, back into the visions within the Palantír. He spoke his thoughts into the open, and Lastar listened carefully.

“The bastard lied to me. He said I was the first to make him feel this way, but he never told me about … him.” The final word came out in a vehement hiss.

“They were lovers then, Glorfindel and Astarion?” Lastar asked, but Erestor did not respond. Instead, the counselor’s face contorted and his eyes glazed over as though in a trance. Lastar began to worry. “Erestor, did you look into the Palantír?” he asked carefully.

Erestor started rocking forward and backward. His hands came up and clenched the braids at the sides of his head. “I didn’t want to,” he whimpered. “I tried not to, but the will to look was too strong. I had to know, Lastar. I had to know about them. Glorfindel had mentioned Astarion to me before, but I think I had always known he wasn’t telling me the entire story.”

Lastar moved closer to Erestor and wrapped his arm around him, trying to calm him, to still him. “You know about the Seeing Stone, I know you do. It does not always present the truth. It can misguide and show you fraudulent insights.”

Erestor stopped fidgeting and regarded Lastar dangerously. “You saw Glorfindel. Where do you think he went just now? You saw with your own eyes, how he easily made his decision. I hate him. I hate them both. Fin would rather comfort the one who whipped him than come to me. That just proves how right I’ve always been about him. I’ve always had my doubts, and this just establishes the truth. Let him rot then. Let him rot away with that creature. They deserve each other.”

Lastar worried for Erestor, who was anything but himself. He’d never heard such venom in the counselor’s voice, not even when he sent Lastar away for lying to him and following him. Something was not right. Something evil had latched on to his mentor.

“Erestor,” Lastar said calmly, “You need to listen to me. Something has happened to you, probably as you looked into the stone. Perhaps it was the Witch-king trying to control your mind, or the Palantír, but you are not yourself.” Lastar turned his body so that he was facing Erestor, both elves still sitting on the ground by the fire. There were flames within Erestor’s eyes, but not a reflection from the campfire. He looked through Lastar, seeing only what the Palantír had showed him, feeding off anger and resentment as some evil darkness tried to take over Erestor’s mind.

Lastar cupped his hands to the sides of Erestor’s face. “Look at me,” he said, but Erestor was not focused. “Look at me, Counselor,” Lastar said with more authority. It changed nothing. “Damn it, Erestor, look at me!” he yelled, earning him Erestor’s attention. “Look straight into my eyes. Fight it off. Fight the hatred and anger. It is not you who is making you feel this way. You are being controlled.”

Erestor’s eyes blackened as his pupils swallowed the hazel of his irises. He managed a deviant smile and laughed. “You think you are smarter? You think you can outwit it? It’s in here,” Erestor said pointing to his head. “And it’s in here.” He pointed to his chest, “Wrapped around my heart, squeezing harder and harder. There is no love, only hate.”

“That’s not true,” Lastar said, his soft voice surprising him. “There is always love, you have just been looking for it in the wrong place. Please, Erestor, fight through this. Fight for yourself and your soul, and know that there is at least one ellon who loves you, no matter the outcome.”

Lastar would not let go of Erestor. He made the counselor look into his eyes as love for his mentor reflected back. Erestor began to tremble, as he internally struggled for his freedom. He closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists, and hit himself in the chest. Erestor cried out, his body going rigid.

“Leave him!” Lastar shouted passionately, and Erestor’s cry turned into the horrid screech of the Witch-king just before he fell silent and limp onto Lastar’s lap. Lastar’s mouth hung agape as he gazed with terror into the fire. Whatever had leeched on to Erestor’s soul was gone now, but the shrillness of the Nazgûl’s howl still pierced Lastar’s head like an icy rod. He found that he’d been holding his breath, and he let it out, rapidly breathing as he recovered. Only then did Lastar look down and notice Erestor lying unconscious in his lap. With his hands still trembling, Lastar grabbed Erestor’s shoulder and forcibly shook him, trying to wake him. “Erestor, are you alright? Erestor! Erestor, awake!”

The counselor’s eyes fluttered and finally opened, focusing on Lastar hovering above him. “It … it’s gone,” he whispered. “I can breathe again, and my chest doesn’t feel tight anymore.”

Lastar smiled down at him, his hand brushing the hair from Erestor’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he seemed alright. “I knew there was something wrong. You’ve never spoken like that before, least of all about Lord Glorfindel.”

Erestor slowly sat up. “I’m afraid not all of it was a lie though. He went to Astarion even when I asked him not to. That’s what the darkness latched onto. It tried to twist my will.”

“It has left you for good,” Lastar informed.

“So it has,” Erestor said, and he looked at Lastar. “Thank you. I am grateful for all that you’ve done. You saved me in there.” He gestured to the destroyed palace.

“I am sorry that I disobeyed your orders, but I couldn’t just leave. Something did not feel right,” Lastar admitted.

Erestor huffed out a laugh and smiled. “For once, I’m glad you did not listen.”

They sat by the fire and discussed the recent events, trying to make sense of it all. Despite Lastar’s feelings for him, Erestor regretted dismissing him from his employment. In a lighthearted way, Erestor told him he could come back to the library. “When we get back to Imladris, we will have quite a load of work to get through.”

Lastar smiled, but it seemed forced. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to continue my internship.”

“What?! Why?” Erestor asked, stunned that he would refuse.

“Erestor, you know of my feelings for you, and try as I might, I cannot contain them sometimes. I want so much more, and I realize now that you cannot return any of it. And it tears at my heart. So, I am officially resigning as your apprentice, but not as your friend, for if that is all you can be, then I must accept it and move on. I cannot compete with Glorfindel, and you have made it very clear.”

It saddened Erestor that Lastar would not help him anymore. “You are very good at what you do. I strongly advise that you continue your apprenticeship with another counselor, if it cannot be with me, but I do understand. Thank you, Lastar. It has been difficult for me too, for I want to be your friend. I feel very comfortable with you in that way.”

“If ever you need an ear to bend, do not hesitate,” Lastar smiled.

Erestor laughed and nodded. It finally felt right between him and Lastar. The pressure of seeing him every day was gone.

Lastar stood, helping Erestor up also, and glanced over his shoulder towards the makeshift prison. “What will you do now?”

“I don’t know … give him some space, I suppose. The Nazgûl was right about one thing. Glorfindel will try to help Astarion, and until he discovers that it is folly, there is nothing I can say to change his mind.” Erestor looked towards the cave, sadness filling his eyes. “I have to hope that he will still love me when it is all said and done.”

“And if not?” Lastar asked, a hint of hopefulness in his tone.

“Then I’ll have new demons to chase away, won’t I?” Erestor said regretfully.


	13. Getting On

The elves left the lands of the Rhovanion and were traveling back to Lothlórien. They moved slowly with the injured in tow. What carts they had were used to transport those who could not walk or ride. Glorfindel, though he protested, was amongst the injured. Erestor rode his horse, always staying close to the cart that Glorfindel was in. When they stopped and made camp for the night, Erestor was always at Fin’s fire, though the elf lord would often not be there himself, always off on some personal mission. Things hadn’t been … right … between them ever since their capture, and neither one could find a moment to discuss matters.

Astarion was made to travel by himself with only guards as companions. The Lothlórien elves did not trust Astarion, and they made him travel blindfolded. Many thought him to be a weapon of the enemy, saying that no one enslaved by the dark ones for as long as Astarion could be considered trustworthy. The ancient elf had spent countless centuries being tortured, used, brainwashed, and whatever else he might have endured. They saw him as a spy, able to be overcome by the Nazgûl, using his eyes to see and his ears to hear as they tracked back to Lothlórien.

Glorfindel had wanted to travel with Astarion, to try and begin whatever healing he could administer. In the end, he was denied this privilege and forced to ride with the injured. Even one as great as Glorfindel was not given everything he wanted, and he made his displeasure well known.

It was at night when the elves made camp that were the hardest for Erestor. While he tried to spend a quiet moment with Glorfindel, he never had him to himself for very long. When he was not being called away by one of the Lothlórien elves, he was being summoned by Astarion, who frequently suffered nightmares that it seemed only Glorfindel could chase away.

Erestor was tiring quickly of the routine, and even thought that Astarion was deceiving them, just to have Glorfindel to himself. Perhaps things would be different once they returned to the city.

They finally reached the borders of Lothlórien, and not by a welcoming crew. The wardens had been given strict instructions to allow all to enter except for the ruined one. Erestor stood by and watched as Glorfindel argued for the sake of his ancient love, that Astarion should be allowed to be seen by healers. The counselor was struck by Glorfindel’s persistence over the care of this … this thing, as he had come to inwardly refer to Astarion.

Lastar was never far during these uncomfortable scenes. He never approached Erestor, but his eyes evoked a kindly sorrow for the counselor’s one sided suffering. In an odd way, Erestor was glad Lastar was there to witness what he thought only he saw. But it seemed to confirm the uncertainty about his relationship with Glorfindel, and Erestor felt himself becoming infinitesimal with every moment that passed. Astarion was Fin’s main concern now, he thought to himself, as he left Glorfindel at the border and entered Lothlórien.

Finally settled into his guest quarters, Erestor sat at a small writing desk, a half empty bottle of wine on one side, and a feather and quill on the other. Laying in front of him was a clean piece of parchment, and he stared at it as though it was full of words. He was contemplating whether or not he should return to Rivendell. Should he leave without Glorfindel? Should he leave behind a note so Fin would not worry? Would Fin even notice he was gone if he left no note at all?

So far, there’d been no sign of Glorfindel. Still at the border, he figured. Still fighting for something that should have been put out of its misery … and his own. Erestor hated these jealous thoughts. They elicited memories of the Seeing Stone and the conversation he had heard between Glorfindel and Astarion. He felt the darkness creep back into his chest, though that entity had been cast out back in Dol Guldur.

“Why should I be jealous of a corpse?” Erestor asked himself. “Certainly Fin will realize what he has been doing, and come to admit that there is no amount of medicine, no spell that can return Astarion back to the elf Glorfindel remembered him as.”

A thought crossed his mind, like a black shadow. “What if Glorfindel has been affected as I was?” Perhaps that was why Fin was so determined to see Astarion allowed into Lothlórien. If the Nazgûl could implant himself in Erestor’s mind, certainly the same thing could have happened to Fin.

“No evil has stepped into Caras Galadhon, least not in its pure form. But if what the others predict to be true about Astarion being the eyes and ears of the enemy, then Glorfindel’s will could be bent towards being his guard.”

* * *

A few days had passed, and there had been no sign of Glorfindel until one evening, late into the night. Erestor was deep in dreams, when he awoke to the feel of someone curled against his back. The woodsy scent easily gave away the identity of this intruder. Glorfindel had come to him, and was now spooned against him, one strong arm wrapped possessively around his waist. Erestor stirred and a nose nuzzled behind his ear.

“I did not mean to wake you,” Glorfindel whispered, his voice sounding gravelly from too many nights sleeping in the elements.

“It’s alright. I wish you had awakened me sooner. How long have you been here?” Erestor asked, though the chill still clinging to Glorfindel’s flesh told him it hadn’t been long.

Glorfindel did not answer, but instead pushed the evidence of his visit firmly against Erestor’s back. “I need you, meldanya. It’s been far too long.”

How easy it would be to let his gilded lover seduce him, but Erestor could not overlook their last conversation when Glorfindel had told him to go away. “What do you want, Glorfindel?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Do you not remember our last conversation?” Erestor rolled onto his back to face him.

“You’re not still upset about that, are you?”

Erestor moved himself up onto his elbows, and looked down at Glorfindel. “You told me to go away. You told me to leave, and you have not spoken to me since then, except for polite conversation. Now you come to my bed, pretending that nothing has happened in the last few weeks.”

“Do you want me to apologize? Fine then, I’m sorry.”

Erestor squirmed out from under Glorfindel and stood from his bed. “You think you can cast me from your side, ignore me for days on end, and then come back here looking to satisfy your needs? I don’t know what has come over you, but even this is uncharacteristic of you.”

“You know what has been happening since we left Dol Guldur. You know I must tend to Astarion, and that has taken up a great deal of my personal time.” Glorfindel sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “No one else around here will see to him,” he muttered.

“That’s because they all know it is a lost cause. The elves do not trust him, and neither do I.”

Glorfindel’s head rose slowly, his eyes looking dangerous as he settled them on Erestor. “Of all people, I thought you would understand my situation. I cannot abandon Astarion, and if that is what you want from me, then perhaps I should go.”

“What is it, Glorfindel? What good do you see in him that the rest of us cannot detect? Did they do something to you … the Wraiths? Did they put you under some dark spell?”

“They did not,” Fin answered with irritation.

“They must have done something to you. You are not yourself.”

“Do you want to know what happened?” Glorfindel asked as he rose from the bed. He walked slowly towards Erestor and circled him. “They stuck me in one of those cells where we found the others. I could still smell their blood, though the bodies were gone. The thought of killing them filled my mind, as though they were still there, begging me for an end to their suffering. And I thought back even further, to the last time I saw Astarion in that tunnel, a flood of black orcs swallowing him. I saw his eyes pleading for me to fire … just one shot, that’s all I had. He’d sacrificed himself so that I could get away and lead our people to safety, but that last glance into his eyes had been a plea for an end, just like those we found in the cells. And … and I failed him. I could not do it. I could not kill him because … because I loved him.”

“And do you still?” Erestor whispered regrettably, afraid to know his answer.

“I feel as though I’ve been given another chance to save him. He’s alive, Erestor, and it is my responsibility to see to him. No one else will do it because it has been left up to me. It is unfinished business.”

“Avoiding my question is an answer in and of itself,” Erestor said with ire on the rise.

“There was a connection between Astarion and me. We bonded as soldiers, as Gondolindrim, and as friends. It is something that you cannot understand, something I share with only him, and if there is only the slightest possibility of saving him, then I must do so.”

“And if you save him then what? Where does that leave us? Have you given any thought to how I feel about any of this?”

“It does not concern you. It happened a very long time ago, and now it is my responsibility to see to him. But if you cannot understand that, then maybe I have been wrong about you, Erestor. Maybe you are not the compassionate elf that I thought you were.”

Erestor rounded on him, eyes shooting sharp shards of hazel. “I am not the compassionate one? It was you who cast me from your side when I questioned your decision to help Astarion. As soon as I inquired, you told me to leave. You ignored me for weeks, no messages, no visits. Not until your cock swells do you think of me, and here you are in my bed. Well, if you want to fuck something, then go back to that thing and rut around on the filthy ground. Or better yet, why don’t you go fuck yourself, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel walked slowly up to Erestor, standing within inches of him, looking at him with menacing intensity. Erestor could feel Fin’s anger emanating from him like some kind of fire red energy. It would take nothing for the great warrior to snap his neck like a twig, and the look in Glorfindel’s eyes seemed to mirror that thought. Murder, Erestor thought, was not far from his thoughts. But Erestor stood his ground, and he did not flinch. And just when he thought Glorfindel might explode into a rampage, the warrior lifted his head and looked at the door. Then he walked out without looking back, not a word spoken in response to Erestor’s insults.

Erestor could not let it end in silence. He needed to tell him one last thing before he disappeared again. “You are being used, Glorfindel. Whether by the Nazgûl or by Astarion, I cannot say. Make your choice soon. Live in the darkness with him, or come hail in the light with me, but you cannot have both.”

Erestor was answered with the door slamming shut, and Glorfindel was gone. He stood alone in the darkness of his guest quarters, not breathing, not seeing, only hearing the sound of the slamming door. What had he just done? Could he not have gone about it a different way? Suddenly, his lungs started working again, and he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. A tight knot formed in his stomach, and he thought he might heave up the contents of his supper. The walls felt like they were closing in. He walked over to a carafe of wine and tried to pour a glass, but his hands shook violently, and it spilled all over the table. Instead, he went to the wardrobe and hastily put on his counselor robes and boots. He sat on the edge of the chair next to the closet, waiting until he was sure it had been long enough that he would not find Glorfindel anywhere near the guest quarters. He had no doubt that the warrior would not stay in the city, and that he would be off to the borders, back to his camp, back to Astarion.

After getting his breathing under control, Erestor left his room and walked along the endless bridges and walkways of Caras Galadhon. Celebrations were still going on in honor of their victory at Dol Guldur. Erestor should have felt victorious too. He’d fought well, especially after living a peaceful non-confrontational lifestyle for so long. Yet, he could have killed a thousand more orcs on the spot, and still felt he’d not finished his business. He kept thinking back to when he first discovered Astarion, before he knew who or what he was. For one single moment, the Gondolin elf had looked into Erestor’s eyes and begged for relief from the tortured life he’d been a part of for so long. Erestor was prepared to give it to him, but Glorfindel had come into the cell when he heard the others voice. He’d told the counselor to stop, to let him speak to the prisoned elf. That’s when it all changed, though at the time Erestor hadn’t known it.

So deep in his thoughts he was that Erestor hadn’t known that he wasn’t alone on the platform where he stopped. A hand touched his shoulder and Erestor jumped, throwing himself against the railing.

“Easy Counselor, it’s just me,” Lastar said. He could not help but notice Erestor’s unusual behavior. “Is everything alright? You seem a bit startled.” When Erestor did not respond, Lastar became concerned. “Erestor, it is only me. What has happened? You look as though you’ve seen a ghoul. 

Erestor was out of sorts, too deep in his thoughts, and having difficulty recovering from the shock of seeing Glorfindel’s cold-blooded eyes. He could not form words and shook his head. Lastar took his arm, and his cold hands brought back memories of the coolness of Glorfindel’s skin. He wanted to pull away from Lastar, but he was afraid he might not be able to support himself. Instead, he used the railing to help keep upright while he regained his balance.

“I … I, I … I’m not sure what happened,” he stammered.

“You are cold, Erestor. You should get back inside. How long have you been wandering out here, and why aren’t you resting?”

“I needed the fresh air. I needed to be outside to collect myself, but now I find that I need to rest. Help me back to my quarters, Lastar, if you will?”

Lastar wasted no time and led Erestor back to his room. He decided it was best to wait until he got Erestor warm and let him gather himself before asking what had happened.

Once back inside, Lastar made a fire in the hearth and threw a blanket around Erestor’s shoulders. He poured a glass of wine, finding some had spilled onto the table, making the surface sticky and sweet smelling. He quickly glanced around the room to see if anything else was out of place. Erestor’s bed was unmade. He must have been sleeping earlier.

Lastar handed the glass to Erestor, who looked up only as far as the glass, and thanked him. Then the young elf brought a stool up to Erestor’s chair and took a seat next to him, watching as the counselor gulped the wine.

“Was it another vision?” Lastar asked. “Did you dream of something that awoke you in the night?”

Erestor shook his head in answer. He took another sip from the glass, closed his eyes and breathed deep. “It’s Glorfindel.”

“Oh,” Lastar said, sounding disappointed. He caught himself and continued to cover his emotion. “Has something happened at the border?” He knew that was where Astarion had been ordered to stay, and that Glorfindel had been with him this whole time.

Erestor remained silent for a long time, staring into the fire, and let the warmth of the wine purl in his stomach. When he finally spoke, his voice was cracked with tiredness. “It was his eyes, Lastar. I’ve never seen them like that before, so intense, so full of rage. It scared me. I thought for a moment that he might cleave me over the head, but he left without saying a word.”

“Glorfindel was here? But I thought he was at the border with his charge.”

“His charge,” Erestor mumbled. “You make it sound as though he was ordered to guard Astarion. He does it because he wants to, and he’ll let no one else near that elf.”

“No one else wants to go near Astarion. The others fear him, or fear what he might do. He is not a complete elf anymore. He has been transformed. He is like a wild animal in the black of night. You know he is there, and you are just waiting for him to sink his fangs into your flesh. The elves are nervous, and they want him gone from Lothlórien. He is a danger to us all.”

“I know that, you know that, and so does everyone else, but Glorfindel. He’s determined to save him. Says he can heal him over time, turn him into the elf he once lov–, once knew,” Erestor corrected himself.

Lastar leaned towards Erestor and said in a very quiet voice, “What happened between you and Glorfindel?”

“I wish I knew, Lastar. He was here when I awoke, and he seemed like himself, but then suddenly he wasn’t. I tried to talk some sense into him, tried to get him to change his mind about Astarion, but he became angry and defensive of him. I was so angry at him for defending Astarion, and I said some things that perhaps I shouldn’t have. And then his eyes settled on me as he stood in front of me, and for the first time I actually feared for my life.” Erestor leaned back in his chair, eyes still focused on the fire. “He’s changed, Lastar, but whether it is his doing or that of unseen forces I do not know. Not even I could pull him from his strange state.”

“I too have noticed this change. I didn’t want to say anything, for it was not my place to do so, but I felt his reserve as we traveled back to Lothlórien, and I saw his coldness towards you. I’m sorry Erestor. I know how much this must sting, but perhaps once things settle–”

“It is over, I think,” Erestor interrupted in a whispered breath.

Lastar gave a huffed laugh and a smile of disbelief. “Not you and Glorfindel. You are soul mates. I can think of no two elves ever so perfectly matched. Of course it is not over. You’ve only had an argument and that–”

“It’s different this time, Lastar.” Erestor stood from his chair and went to the hearth. He reached for the edge of the mantle, and he laid his head upon the back of his hand. The heat from the fire rose against his face. It should have been a comfort, fire’s warmth had always felt that way, but all he could think of was the belligerent heat that Glorfindel emitted as he stared at him. That look was none other than hate, a look that Erestor had only seen him give to his enemies. “He has made his choice.”

Erestor expected Lastar to join him, to touch his shoulder or give comforting words. Instead, he heard the quiet tread of the young elf moving towards the door. Erestor looked over his shoulder. “Where are you going?” he said in a panic.

“Someone needs to tell Glorfindel what he has done here. He cannot treat you like this and not give you some kind of explanation,” Lastar said perturbed.

“Please, no. Let it go for now.”

“No!” Lastar shouted. “Time and time again I have seen him hurt you in one way or another. Sometimes it is just a disagreement. Sometimes it is a little more serious. But this … this is unacceptable.”

“Lastar,” Erestor said in a raised voice, “I demand that you stay out of this. You are out of line in this matter.”

“Glorfindel is the one who’s out of line, and someone needs to tell him.”

“It is not your place to say anything.”

Lastar sighed deeply and let go of the door handle. “Alright,” he whispered. “Fine then. I will keep my mouth shut … for now. But Erestor, you cannot let yourself live in a place of oblivion, to wonder what happened, what will follow, and if he means it this time. Glorfindel may choose to wallow in misery, to waste his days trying to help someone that is well beyond anyone’s help, but you must go on. You have to know for sure if it is through so you can grieve and move on. Don’t let yourself waste away for his sake.” With that said, Lastar left.

* * *

Weeks passed, and in that time, Erestor returned to Rivendell. Lastar went with him, but Glorfindel remained outside of Lothlórien with Astarion. Erestor said nothing when he left, but Glorfindel had seen him leave the city, bags packed and securely fitted to his horse. There was no question that Erestor was going home, and Glorfindel did not try to stop him.

Once settled back in Rivendell, Erestor took up his usual duties within Lord Elrond’s libraries. He tried to put aside his feelings and all that had happened since being captured in Dol Guldur, but it was not easy. What he ignored during the waking hours seemed to find a way in through dreams. It was not just Glorfindel that he dreamt of. He continually relived his time in captivity, when the Witch-king tried to turn him against everyone and everything. Those visions that the Seeing Stone had implanted in his mind returned often, along with a small voice that always reminded him what he could have had if he’d only given in to the darkness. Erestor thought it was utter rubbish. He would never have let the Nazgûl sway him, to trade eternal power for the lives of his very kin. But what if he’d let just a small portion of it into his soul. He could have had Astarion destroyed, and had Glorfindel back in his heart. Fin would have seen, eventually, that Astarion was no good, that he was only using him to find a way into those places that evil could not touch. And in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, Erestor knew that what he wanted most was to have Fin to himself again. It was worth almost anything to set their love and their lives straight … almost.

Erestor had a new apprentice, a youthful and … for lack of a better word … elegant ellon named Canyo. He was slight of frame, long chestnut hair, thin faced with prominent cheek bones. He seemed almost fragile, Erestor thought to himself, not an ounce of soldiering in this one. But he was excited about his job and eager to learn. It seemed to work out well for both of them, and their working relationship had developed easily. Canyo put in long hours when needed, and he was catching on to Erestor’s little quirks and preferences. Just the day before, he had remembered to light the incense that the counselor was so fond of, and the library once again smelled the way Erestor always remembered. Now, he would teach Canyo how to prepare his favorite orchid tea, and life would be back to normal … almost.

Erestor found himself using that word too often, but what did he expect? Without Glorfindel around, things would never be quite right. Perhaps he needed to heed Lastar’s advice and not waste away. He was trying, but it would take a long time to heal from such an intense relationship … if he would heal. There were times he thought it would never happen, and he’d spend the rest of his days figuring out how to go on. It was the choice he gave Glorfindel that kept Erestor from wasting away. Some part of him still held out hope that Fin would return, that it would be alright once more.

“Not much has changed around here,” said Lastar from Erestor’s office doorway.

“Lastar,” Erestor smiled. “Come in. What brings you here?”

“Oh, well … I haven’t been to the libraries since … well, since–”

“Since I dismissed you from your avocation?” Erestor finished for him.

Lastar seemed to blush as he looked to the ground in embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth curled in the slightest of smiles. “Yes, since then, and I admit that I rather miss it.” He could see that he was already causing the atmosphere to become an uncomfortable one, and he quickly relented. “But, of course, I understand your reasoning.”

Erestor watched Lastar behave awkwardly, and he realized just how devastating it must have been. At the time, Erestor was upset with Lastar for disobeying him and following him to Dol Guldur. But the young elf’s reasons for doing so were out of concern and an unyielding love he held for the counselor. That made it all the more difficult between them, for Erestor would not, could not return those feelings. Yet, he always found himself wanting to at least be Lastar’s friend. Even now, he wished they could sit comfortably with each other, and not have the underlying tension of knowing the other pined for him.

As they spoke, Canyo came into the room with a pot of tea and two cups. It had undoubtedly been prepared for him and the counselor, but when he saw there was a guest, he relinquished his serving. “Tea for you and your company, my lord.”

The scent of the tea reached Erestor’s nostrils. Not the orchid that he so desired, but the haughty aroma of a bold mountain tea, the kind brewed from the leaves of a shrub instead of delicate flowers. It was all well and good, though. Erestor needed something a bit invigorating rather than relaxing. “Smells delightful,” he said kindly, and Canyo smiled, satisfied with his choice.

As Canyo entered the room, Lastar turned to greet the new apprentice. Canyo’s eyes met Lastar’s and Erestor saw that very first connection between two souls, or at least one soul noticing another. Lastar remained on the friendly side, while Canyo looked in awe of the black haired ellon.

“I’d like you to meet my … friend, Lastar,” Erestor said carefully to Canyo. He had become used to referring to Lastar as his apprentice because he’d never referred to him as anything else.

Canyo carefully set the tea tray on Erestor’s desk and turned to Lastar. He bowed respectfully, and when he stood straight again, his eyes settled on Lastar’s. “Nice to meet you. I am–”

“My replacement,” Lastar interrupted, as he enjoyed making the other elf uncomfortable.

“Oh, you are … uh, were … that is, I … um,” Canyo stammered.

Lastar huffed a laugh. “You are quite charming–”

“Canyo,” he finished, recollecting himself when he realized that he was talking to the former apprentice of the Chief Counselor.

“Very nice to meet you, Canyo. You have your work cut out for you. Lord Erestor is a demanding employer, but he is most fair,” Lastar said with a crooked smile to the counselor.

“Won’t you be joining us?” Erestor asked when he saw only two cups on the tray.

“Perhaps another time.” Canyo’s eyes met Lastar’s once more. “Most definitely.”

Erestor found the exchange between Canyo and Lastar quite intriguing, and it gave him an idea. Once he and Lastar were alone in the office and satisfied with teacups in hand, he began his matchmaking. “A handsome one, that.”

“He is lovely, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s the chestnut hair. Not all that common in the region,” Erestor said, making small talk and leading Lastar into his plan.

“Perhaps a bit of wood elf in his blood. Not a bad thing to be.”

Erestor took a sip of the strong tea. “You know what they say about wood elves … dangerous in more ways than one.”

Lastar peeked over the edge of his cup to where Erestor sat opposite him. “Why, Erestor, breaking out of your solitary bubble already? I’m surprised.”

It was actually Erestor who was surprised by the comment, and he quickly corrected Lastar. “I was not implying to myself.”

“Me?” Lastar said shocked.

“He seems interested in you. Did you not notice his eyes upon you the whole time he was in the room?” Erestor asked.

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I–”

“And why not? You are not with anyone, are you?” Erestor said convincingly. “And you are young and handsome. What’s the harm in asking him to join you for dinner one evening?”

“No harm, I suppose,” Lastar said cynically. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Erestor defended. “I would just like to see you happy.”

“I am happy,” Lastar said, though it came across a little harshly. He surrendered and corrected his tone. “I’m happy, Erestor, but it is you who I worry for. We’ve been home for weeks now, and I’ve hardly seen you leave the libraries.”

“I’m fine, Lastar. Besides, you don’t expect me to pick up everything and move on so quickly, do you?”

“I would if it was me,” Lastar murmured.

“You know nothing of true love if you can say that.”

“I apologize. You’re right, of course. I’ve always been too hasty with my words, which is why I am no longer your apprentice. But I do understand, and I realize it is better this way. And so, to make you … happy … I will take your advice and ask Canyo to dinner if you’ll join me for a bit of musical entertainment and storytelling later in the week. You need to get away from this dusty old place once in a while.”

“You’ll speak with Canyo right now?” Erestor asked.

“Yes.”

“Very well.”

Lastar stood from his chair, replaced the teacup on its tray and made his way to the door. As Erestor watched him go, he couldn’t help feel that Lastar had changed considerably since first meeting him. He’d matured, grown in body and in mind. It seemed to happen overnight, but then, meeting a Nazgûl face to face and risking your life had a tendency to make one less timid.

“Lastar,” Erestor called to him. He stopped and turned back around. “I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you for what you did for me. You truly saved my life.”

“I am always there for you, Erestor, whatever you may need.” Lastar smiled, his eyes shining in the lamplight, and left the office.


	14. Harsh Realities

As he had agreed, Erestor met Lastar for an evening of entertainment. Stories were told, wine flowed, and the music was soft and sweet to everyone’s ears. With all the activities, they hadn’t had much time to talk, but Erestor was curious as to how Lastar’s evening went with Canyo.

“So, are you finally going to tell me how things went?” Erestor asked as they walked along the cobbled path that wound through the city.

Lastar gave a crooked smile. “I suppose you are inquiring about my dinner with Canyo.”

“Of course I am. What else would I be asking about?”

Lastar’s brow rose as he thought about what to say. “If you must know, we had a splendid time. We met precisely at the beginning of the evening meal. Our tastes are quite compatible too. We both preferred the venison over the wild boar.”

Erestor smiled inwardly. It seemed his plan to match Lastar with someone had worked. “Then you’ll see each other again I presume.”

“I don’t know. He seems so young.”

“You are young,” Erestor chortled.

Lastar’s demeanor changed suddenly to a more somber disposition. “I’m not as young as I once was.”

Sometimes Lastar confused Erestor. He could change so quickly from the innocent apprentice he’d once been to a much older soul. He hadn’t escaped Dol Guldur unscathed, and Erestor began to feel guilty because of it.

They walked along in silence for a while until they came to one of the many bridges that connected the different buildings. Erestor stopped and gazed out over the valley. He felt the ghostly tendrils of his absent lover, a hand at his waist, warm lips upon his neck; this place had many memories for him. Often he and Glorfindel found themselves standing on that very bridge, admiring the moon or the stars, but most of all, relishing each other.

Lastar had taken a few steps ahead and stopped when he realized Erestor was not beside him. He turned to see the counselor deep in waking dreams, and returned to him. He mimicked Erestor, hands grasping the railing and eyes peering out over the darkness below.

“How will I find the strength to give up something that has found its way to my immortal soul?” Erestor asked aloud.

“You find something else to replace the void. You live for yourself, not for anyone else,” Lastar answered.

“That seems such a selfish notion.”

“I think in this case, especially with Glorfindel, you need to be more selfish,” Lastar advised. “Has he not been the miserly one in your relationship? Has he not been devoted to his own feelings more than yours? If he loved you as you say he does, wouldn’t he have saved you from the Witch-king?”

“That is not fair,” Erestor whispered angrily. “He was captured same as I was.”

“He is Glorfindel the almighty, the Balrog slayer, the one who the Valar saved from Mandos Halls and gave back to the earth. Yet, he could not escape a simple cell. He could not scare away the Nazgûl by his mere presence. In days long passed, the Witch-king simply fled from the sight of Glorfindel, but not this time. This time he was captured easily, but why? I think he allowed himself to be captured, because he could not leave without Astarion. It is for this same reason that he has not returned to Rivendell or to you. Still, here you are, a symbol of love and hope, wishing desperately for him to manifest at your side, when you do not even see what is right in front of you.”

“It was you who said this could not be, that what Glorfindel and I had was too strong to break. Now you tell me to forget and move on, to give up any hope I have. That will leave me with nothing.”

“You have me, Erestor. I have always been there, but you have always looked past me.”

Erestor shook his head. “I cannot, Lastar. I have told you before that this cannot be.”

“And I agree that before it could not have been. But it is different this time, is it not?”

Erestor did not answer right away. Lastar was right, of course. It was different this time. Lastar was no longer under his employment. But what about Glorfindel? Should he give up so easily?

“He did not fight for you, but I have always fought,” Lastar said as though reading Erestor’s thoughts. “Whenever Glorfindel turned from you, or argued with you, whenever he made you feel it was your fault, I came to you and assured you that he was in the wrong. But I think in the deepest part of your heart, you know that to be true this time. He was wrong to choose Astarion, a ruined soul, over you. It’s something that I cannot even fathom.”

As Lastar spoke, Erestor listened. He seemed to affirm every thought, every doubt that Erestor ever had about Glorfindel. The counselor felt himself divide into two beings, the one who looked at Glorfindel through an optimistic view, and the one who saw clearly through the hazy fog. “He’d told me that he once loved Astarion, but when I asked if he still did, he could not give a straight answer. I have tried to give him time, to give him the benefit of doubt. I thought by now he would have seen the truth.”

Lastar covered Erestor’s hand and spoke carefully. “Perhaps he has and you haven’t.”

Erestor suddenly felt like he had the wind knocked from his lungs. His chest tightened and his stomach clenched as Lastar’s words penetrated his denial. So it was true. If Glorfindel could still find love for Astarion, even after knowing the creature he’d become, then he most certainly could not love Erestor, and might never have to begin with.

The strength left Erestor’s legs, and he slumped to the ground. Lastar knelt down instantly and took Erestor’s hands. “Are you alright?” Lastar said repeatedly when Erestor did not respond.

Finally, the counselor raised his eyes to meet Lastar’s. “You are right, but I cannot find the will to give up on him yet. Not until he himself tells me there is nothing left shall I be able to move on. Until then, my heart will hold out hope. I can make it do nothing else.”

* * *

Some time had passed since that evening with Lastar. Erestor’s daily routine did not change much as he kept things organized in the libraries. Meetings with Lord Elrond and the other counselors revealed a shift in the world. War was coming to Gondor. Sauron’s forces were on the move. The armies of men prepared for battle. The future was uncertain.

“Uncertain indeed,” Erestor said to himself where he sat at his desk. He glanced towards the window. The sun shone brightly while birds sang outside in the trees. It was difficult to believe that there was war anywhere in the world. It certainly hadn’t come to Rivendell, but it could if things went awry. For now, it was just another day in the elvish realm, with papers to sign and translations needed. It all made Erestor feel very helpless, but this was a war for men not elves, and especially not for a chief counselor.

The office door was slightly ajar so that Erestor could hear if anyone came into the library. Canyo hadn’t shown yet, but Erestor had a good idea why. Lastar had asked Canyo to join him for another evening together, the fifth date for them to be exact. Erestor was happy that Lastar was giving it a chance to see if they were compatible. The two young elves seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and the fact that Canyo was tardy hopefully meant that they had spent more than just a pleasant evening wining and dining. It also meant that Lastar’s feelings for Erestor might be lessening and instead, growing for Canyo.

Someone entered the library. Erestor heard their soft tread as they crossed the room and came to his office. When he knew they were just outside his door, he called for them to enter. Canyo peeked his head into the room.

“Counselor, I apologize for my unpunctuality,” Canyo said first off.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Erestor asked.

“Very much so.”

“Then you are excused,” Erestor said with a smile. He looked past Canyo to the door. “Is Lastar still here?”

Canyo blushed and looked to the ground. “He walked me to the main entrance, but he did not come in.”

Erestor smiled and thought about Lastar’s choice not to embarrass Canyo by coming into the library, especially when Erestor noticed that his assistant was still wearing the same outfit from the day before. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since last night.”

“I’ll have something brought up from the kitchens. We’ve a busy day ahead of us,” Erestor said.

They’d been working for half the day when Erestor was distracted by voices coming from the street below his office window. He stood from his desk to go and have a look, when Lastar came in unannounced.

“Have you heard yet?” Lastar asked, walking to Erestor. His voice was a mix of concern and ire.

“Have I heard what?” Erestor said. He had a feeling that whatever Lastar had to say had to do with the commotion in the street.

Lastar continued to the window and looked below. Erestor waited to see what he had to say. When he said nothing he joined the Lastar at the window. Just entering the cobbled street, at the far end, was a white horse carrying two riders, one tall and proud like a shining beacon of light, and the other hooded and dark, blindfolded and hidden from the world around him. There was no mistaking who had come back to Rivendell.

“No,” Erestor whispered in disbelief. “Tell me he has not brought the enemy into Rivendell. Why are the guards not stopping them? Who has allowed this?”

“Lord Elrond himself has given permission,” Lastar whispered in answer. “I thought you would have known.”

“I was told nothing of this,” Erestor said in disbelief. “Where is Glorfindel taking him?”

“I do not know, though I presume he’ll be held in the cells,” Lastar assumed.

Though Erestor could not deny the fact that he was glad to see Glorfindel had finally come home, he buried those feelings and focused on the other fact that Astarion was allowed into the city. Not even Lothlórien would let him pass through their borders. It was not yet known if Astarion was being influenced by dark forces. Erestor had to believe that Glorfindel would not put his home, or the lives of all who lived there, in danger.

Glorfindel directed his horse further along the road. They moved slowly, looking tired and travel worn. Erestor hoped that Glorfindel was well. It was not until the elf lord passed beneath Erestor’s window that he could see Glorfindel completely. He wore no smile, and his eyes were glazed with fatigue. He looked straight ahead and did not acknowledge anyone, bound to his mission. Erestor felt his soul reach out and call to him. ‘Please see me,’ it said. In answer, Glorfindel tilted his head up, his blue eyes catching sight of Erestor standing at his window, watching as he made his way up the street. For only a brief second, Glorfindel’s eyes lit up at the sight of the counselor, but he looked away quickly, as if he’d seen only a mirage of what he hoped was real. As he did this, another small part of Erestor’s heart broke, for he could not remember a time when Glorfindel’s spirit did not brighten upon seeing him. Even before they became involved, the elf lord seemed to revitalize when Erestor came into view. The look on his face now seemed to say that he was spent of emotions.

Lastar had seen the exchange, and he placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder to let him know he was there. Erestor squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I must speak to Lord Elrond,” he announced. With that, he left the office.

Lastar glanced over to Canyo, who had no idea of the importance of any of it. “Can I be of any help?” Canyo asked.

“Just stay here and continue with your duties. I will see to Erestor.” Lastar looked down from the window once more. Glorfindel had passed by, and was almost to the end of the road. Then, he spared one more glance back, and saw Lastar instead of Erestor. Disappointment was easily read on the elf lord’s face, and Lastar was selfishly glad he was there instead of Erestor.

Erestor wasted no time, and arrived at Lord Elrond’s audience chamber in record time. As chief counselor to the Lord of Imladris, he was allowed entrance without question. He found Elrond standing at his window, where he had been watching Glorfindel escort the prisoner.

Erestor skipped proper greeting and questioned Elrond. “Why, of all people, have you allowed this creature into our city?”

“Glorfindel requested this, and after careful consideration, I granted it,” Elrond answered.

“Have you no inkling of the danger you might have put us all in?”

Elrond’s brows came together in a sharp crease. “I have never known you to speak to me in such a tone, Erestor, but I find it quite disturbing. I suggest you think before continuing your inquiry.”

Erestor collected himself, aware of his anger. He straightened the collar of his robe and continued. “I apologize, my lord, but seeing Astarion within our city, on our own streets … well, I cannot help but feel that our security has been compromised.”

“We took precautions before even allowing Astarion close to Rivendell. There is no possible way he could know the secret passage. And he will not be allowed sight of anything but the inside of his cell.”

“Why?” Erestor asked. “Why allow him here at all? It is too much of a risk, don’t you think?”

“It is a risk, but one I feel that is worth taking. I know better than anyone the danger of exposure. I sense a presence not his own when I look at Astarion. However, Glorfindel has assured me that he has seen improvement in him. I received a letter from Glorfindel, asking for permission to bring Astarion here where he thinks he will be able to better care for and heal his charge, and I trust that Glorfindel will not let anything happen as long as Astarion is under his guard. You should know as well as I that he would not let harm come to Rivendell.”

“I want to believe that, my lord, but I have been a victim to the dark powers you have only sensed. They are incredibly strong. They make you think differently, make you question yourself, and make allowances for choices that you would never have taken into consideration under a sound mind. I cannot help but wonder if Glorfindel is being used by our enemies in part of a larger plan. You have your reasons, Lord Elrond, but my decision would have been not to allow Astarion anywhere near Rivendell.”

“You are entitled to your opinion, but my mind is already made in this,” Lord Elrond said sternly.

“How many elves do you know of that have been transformed back to their original selves, and of those, how many have been enslaved for as long as Astarion has? Do you not find it folly, my lord?”

“You have looked into a Seeing Stone,” Elrond explained. “You know its ability to bring ruin. Had you succumbed to the Wraiths, you would have been a key element in the destruction of elvendom as well as human kind. Yet you were able to refuse to let it control you.”

“And something still managed to latch onto me. It was Lastar who saw the darkness and expelled it. Though I was only its prisoner for a short while, I still feel the effects from time to time. This being the case, how do you expect Astarion to make a full recovery?” Erestor argued. “I cannot help but feel that this is the work of our enemy. For Eru’s sake, Elrond, not even Lothlórien would allow him to go past the furthest reaches of their borders.” He ended with a voice raised in anger.

Elrond brought himself to his full height, and his eyes narrowing on Erestor. “Every elf deserves a chance to come into the light of the stars, not to continue to live in the deepest recesses of unfathomable darkness. The fact that Astarion is still alive after all these thousands of years speaks in and of itself. If Glorfindel says there is still hope, then I believe him. Now, he has asked for our help. Living in the wilds is making treatment difficult, and in Rivendell, he has access to any kind of healing that he needs to assist him. If this is what he needs, then I am willing to take that risk to save a life.”

Erestor did not counter Elrond, but he did study his features, and found his lord to be unmoving to any more argument. “I see that nothing I can say will persuade you otherwise. I will take my leave now.”

As he left Elrond’s chambers, Erestor’s emotions strangled him. He held a certain amount of fear and hate for Astarion, fearful that he brought the enemy with him and hate for taking the love of his life from him. When he thought of Glorfindel, he felt he needed to rescue the elf lord from his own stubbornness, as he demanded that Astarion was his responsibility and no one else’s. Erestor still held out hope that Glorfindel would finally see that he could not save Astarion, and when he came to realize that, he would need Erestor’s love to deal with a second loss. He needed to keep himself available to Glorfindel, yet not overpower him with persuasion either.

“I want him to come home,” Erestor said to himself. “I want him back in my life. Without him, I don’t think I can continue.” Yet, fear kept him from following through. It was just as it was when he first became acquainted with Glorfindel. Erestor felt small compared to the enormity of the situation with Astarion. The Gondolin elf had been there first and foremost. How could Glorfindel still have a place in his heart for Erestor when it was so full of regret and reunion, of a need to put things right again. Erestor thought back to previous years, when Glorfindel approached him and asked that he join him on that fateful hunting trip. “I should never have gone,” he said despairingly. “It would have saved my heart a lot of damage.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Erestor was absolutely miserable. He kept hope alive as best he could, but without any contact with Glorfindel, he found it difficult to continue day to day business. Erestor had Canyo do twice the work he normally did, for the counselor had difficulty concentrating.

Mornings were the most excruciating of all. As the sun rose, Glorfindel passed by Erestor’s office window on his way to spend the day working with Astarion. Erestor made it a point to leave a single candle burning in the window, in hopes that Glorfindel might find it in his heart to stop and see him. But every day, the elf lord passed by without much notice of whose window he walked by. Erestor would hope that the next day would be different, but it never was.

Meanwhile, Lastar witnessed Erestor’s deterioration and he worried for him. If only Erestor would open his heart and his mind to something else. Then he would find Lastar waiting with open arms. It hurt him to think there was a soul longing for love and another one full of love to give away. He had asked Erestor once that if Glorfindel had not existed in the counselor’s life, would he have given Lastar a chance. To his surprise, Erestor said that it might have been, but that what was done was done. So, while Erestor held out hope for Glorfindel, Lastar held his for Erestor. It would not be enough, and when Lastar saw that Erestor was not going to come out of this destitute fog any time soon, he decided he needed to do something about it. 

It was late one evening when Lastar and Canyo were walking back from an evening of wine and friendly conversation. They had both discovered that, after one night of heated passion, they had needed only release and pleasure, and that there were no romantic notions between them. Still, they enjoyed each other’s company, and continued at friends. As they walked along their path, Lastar glanced in the direction of Erestor’s house, seeing a pale light escaping through a split in the curtains. Canyo saw the look of longing flit across Lastar’s eyes, and not for the first time.

“You love him, don’t you?” Canyo said.

Lastar smiled shyly and looked to the ground. “Is it obvious?

“Only a fool could not see, and I am no fool,” Canyo chaffed. He looked off towards Erestor’s window in the distance. “Why do you not tell him?”

“I have, but he holds out hope for another,” said Lastar, defeated.

“Ah, Glorfindel,” Canyo said knowingly. “Erestor has not spoken of him to me, but I have seen the way he watches the elf lord when he passes by in the street below his office. Is it very serious between them?”

“Yes, or … well, it was, once. It is a difficult situation, and one that I’m afraid I have no place within, which is why I am no longer employed by the counselor, by my choice, mind.”

“Why don’t you speak with him again?” Canyo asked.

“I have tried on many occasions, and each time it ends disastrously. I fear that if I try one more time, I will lose the last thing I have of Erestor, and that is his friendship,” Lastar admitted.

“Hmm, a very precarious situation indeed. Perhaps going to Erestor is not such a good idea. His mind seems made up about Glorfindel. But what about the elf lord? Where does he stand in all of this?”

Lastar’s anger bubbled just below the surface as he spoke of Glorfindel. “He dedicates himself to the prisoner. They were lovers once, you know, many long years ago in Gondolin. Glorfindel feels he wronged him and will do anything he can to make it right, including keeping Erestor waiting like a lovesick maiden while he works day and night to heal the ruined one. I say there is no hope in it, but my opinion is not required. So day after day, Erestor holds out hope that Glorfindel will come back to him, and the mighty one lets him continue his downward spiral.”

Canyo thought a moment, and then smiled as an idea came to him. “Speaking with Erestor will be a waste of time. He is blinded by it all. What you need to do is to go to Glorfindel and convince him to speak to Erestor.”

Lastar did not like the suggestion and he shook his head. “That is my fear, that Glorfindel will speak to Erestor and give him false hope. Erestor will never be free of him then.”

“Then it is up to you to convince Glorfindel to let Erestor go.”

“What?” Lastar said, almost laughing at the preposterous idea.

“Erestor will not give up on Glorfindel unless the elf lord gives his permission. Glorfindel must be made to realize the state of being that Erestor is in. He wallows in misery. His performance is lacking. He is an elf suffering from deprivation. He is emotionally distressed, and it is all because of Glorfindel’s choice to push him aside and focus on the prisoner. There will be no end to Glorfindel’s work with Astarion. Once an elf is ruined as he is, there is no coming back. Glorfindel could spend the remainder of his time in Middle-earth tending to Astarion’s needs. It might look like he is improving, but below the surface, the curse lays dormant. It will manipulate, give false hope to the healer, and just when it seems the host is cured, it will strike, destroying all those who are involved. Now, if it were me, I’d have ridden myself of the disease long ago, but Glorfindel seems too deep in it. Erestor, however, could become a casualty of it. The way I see things, you would be saving Erestor, not interfering.”

“The problem is, Glorfindel knows of my feelings for Erestor. What’s to say he will not think I’m only doing this to win him over?” Lastar asked.

“That is why you’re doing it in the first place, isn’t it?” Canyo said cunningly. He gripped Lastar’s shoulder and smiled. “And with that said, I will take my leave of you. Good night, Lastar, and think about what we’ve discussed here.”

Lastar stayed on the path, and watched Canyo walk off towards home. Then he set his sight on Erestor’s distant window. The light still shone through the curtain. He knew the counselor was alone, awake, and drowning in sadness. “I have to try something,” he said, willing his feet to carry him home, but every fiber of his being told him to go to Glorfindel and try to convince him, as Canyo said.

Lastar never went home, though. He walked through Rivendell, stopping every now and then when his thoughts became too heavy. How would he do this? What could he say to Glorfindel that would make him change his mind about Erestor? It would be like trying to take water out of flour after it had been turned into dough. “Ai, what am I doing?” he fretted.

Night slowly gave way to day, as the sun rose over the valley. Lastar checked its placement in the sky. Glorfindel would be on his way to the cells by now, past Erestor’s office where Lastar could approach him without the counselor knowing. He wished he’d thought things out better. Lastar had no desire to come into close range with Astarion. There was something dark that clung to him, something Lastar feared might try to latch onto himself. But if he wanted to speak with Glorfindel, he would have to compose his fears.

Lastar walked along casually, nodding to elves that he recognized, saying his good morning praises and smiling, but inside his guts twisted painfully. When he reached the building that held the cells, he stopped and looked around him. The area was deserted. As far as he knew, Astarion was the only resident in this particular building, and Glorfindel was his only caretaker. Lastar entered and quietly closed the door behind him.

The room Lastar walked into was empty except for a couple of old wooden chairs and a writing table. This room was where the prisoner was stripped of his clothes and dressed in a simple robe. Any of his belongings were taken from him, and his name would go into a ledger, kept by the warden. Lastar glanced at the table and found it empty, no ledger and no warden to write in it. It was as if the elves wished to forget the ruined elf even existed and only Glorfindel knew of him. A well-kept secret, Lastar thought to himself. Out of sight, out of mind, out of danger, but far from the latter. As long as Astarion was within Rivendell, they were all in danger. Lastar didn’t know how or from what, but the threat was very real.

At the back of the main room was a corridor, in which the floor immediately sloped on a decline. The cells were partially underground. Each cell had a window situated high enough that no one could reach it, but from the outside, the window was at ground level. Without the use of candles, this allowed light in, and ventilated the cell so that fresh air could come inside.

Lastar stood at the archway that led down to the cells. He could hear voices far down the corridor, someone speaking in whispers, and another’s deep silky tone softly spoken. That one belonged to Glorfindel, Lastar realized. At least he knew for sure that the elf lord was here.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Lastar said to himself, but curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself eavesdropping on the distant conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Lastar always had a naughty habit of listening in on conversations that were none of his business. He should have been a spy, not a scribe, he’d thought from time to time. With that in mind, he moved down the sloping corridor a little ways, until he could make out clearly what was being said. Then he stood still as a stone pillar and listened.

* * *

Glorfindel prepared for another day of battle to save Astarion’s soul. They’d been making good progress lately. Astarion was beginning to recall his youth, of a time when he and Glorfindel first met. He was able to hold onto the memories longer and longer each time, before the darkness blocked it out. When he first started working with Astarion, the black memories were deeply embedded in his friend’s consciousness, making reality difficult to distinguish. Astarion never knew what was real or implanted memory. The Mist, as he referred to it, controlled him every moment, only allowing certain bits of information to get through, and only what it wanted him to know or remember. Glorfindel had worked hard to make Astarion fight back against the Mist. Whenever it tried to intercept a memory and insert its own agenda, Glorfindel gave Astarion the courage and the strength to fight back, and allow himself the ability to hold on to what was real. It was very tiring, exhausting work, but it all rested in Glorfindel’s hands.

“Let’s try again,” Glorfindel said to Astarion. “What do you remember of family in Gondolin? Think back to a fond memory.”

Astarion closed his eyes and concentrated. “I see my father. He is smiling at me, congratulating me. I think he has just learned that I was accepted into the House of the Golden Flower. This was my regiment, and I served under my Lord Captain Glorfindel.” Astarion paused and opened his eyes. He looked up at Glorfindel and smiled. “That’s right, you were my captain. Father was always so fond of you, and he was overjoyed to know we would be together in the same House.”

“Do you remember why?” Glorfindel asked.

“We were lifelong friends, of course.”

“What else do you remember about that time?”

Astarion closed his eyes again, tilting his head up so that the filtered light from the window illuminated his sallow skin. “There was something else, something important. It feels very significant … a promise I made … something needed to be done because I had entered into the guard. I … I’m trying to remember, but . . .” As hard as he thought, the memory was blocked at the moment.

Glorfindel remembered,though. Before Astarion officially joined the guard, he had proposed to an elleth named Leriniel. They were to court for a year, while he finished his training and then marry. But war broke out before they could join, and so they remained engaged until the time came when they could perform the proper ceremony.

“Can you remember a name or anything leading to this promise you speak of?” Glorfindel asked.

Astarion thought determinedly, but he shook his head in discouragement. “Nothing, it is blocked, but by what I do not know. It is not the Mist this time. It is something else.”

“Could it be … me?” Glorfindel said carefully.

Astarion opened his eyes and gazed at Glorfindel. “Why would it be you? Is this a clue to some insight?”

“It could be, but you must remember on your own. I cannot tell you more.”

“You were my captain. Perhaps your orders kept me from fulfilling this promise.” He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read Glorfindel’s face. “No, I do not think that is it, but I definitely feel that you had something to do with it.”

Glorfindel knew he was reaching dangerous territory in Astarion’s mind. Besides the war, Fin never actually knew why Astarion did not finalize his marriage. He’d always said he wouldn’t put Leriniel’s soul in danger of fading, should something happen to him, and that made perfect sense.

“Wait,” Astarion called. “I remember something, an elleth. Did I promise her something?”

“You did.”

“We exchanged something … rings … my wife?” Astarion asked.

“Your betrothed. You never married due to the war,” Glorfindel said, filling in the lost information.

“Why?” Astarion asked, thoroughly confused.

“I do not know, actually. I was hoping you would remember and tell me, for I’ve always been curious to learn why myself.”

“I loved her, I think. It seems like a familiar emotion.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Yes, there was love involved.”

Astarion looked at him curiously. “You do not sound so sure of this.”

Glorfindel quickly composed his personal feelings and feigned a smile to disguise any misconceptions. “You loved Leriniel or you would not have proposed to her. Marriage is eternal.”

“Yet, I cannot help but feel that I questioned this. Did I love her or was there someone else?” Astarion stood from the stool where he sat and walked in a circle around Glorfindel, seated on the opposite stool. “I did love someone, but I think it was not Leriniel, not completely anyways. Something blocks my memory, though.”

Feeling nervous, Glorfindel thought it was best to move on to something else for a while. “So tell me, what do you remember of your father and mother?”

Astarion had stopped somewhere out of Glorfindel’s sight, but the elf lord felt his eyes upon him. “I want to know more about these feelings. Tell me, Glorfindel, you say we were childhood friends … that we grew up together, and our families knew one another. We were close, then, but how close? Were we like brothers?”

“I would say we were,” Glorfindel answered.

“Did we share things?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. We shared playthings when we were young. We shared likes and dislikes. We entered into training the same year and kept up with each other’s accomplishments, challenging each other constantly.”

“Did we share ellith?” Astarion asked intentionally.

“Absolutely not,” Glorfindel demanded.

“Not even Leriniel?”

“Never!” Fin said angered. “This is enough. We should move on to other subjects.”

“Did we share each other?” Astarion said, ignoring Glorfindel.

The elf lord remained silent. Throughout Astarion’s healing process, he’d lost many memories, one of them being the outcome of their time within the secret tunnels. It had been the Mist that kept those memories alive, but it had also injected its own version into the real situation, making Astarion think that Glorfindel had used him, and then left him to the approaching orcs. He had faded in and out of reality and the Mist’s particular account, confusing love for vengeance, sacrifice for abandonment. Glorfindel feared that touching on this subject too soon might give the Mist the upper hand, and that was the last thing Fin wanted.

“I should be the one asking questions, not you,” Glorfindel said firmly.

“Then why do you not ask the one that weighs heavily upon your mind?”

Glorfindel knew he was no longer speaking with Astarion alone. The Mist, as his friend referred to it, had taken control of his mind. It seemed to happen any time they got too close to the day Astarion disappeared.

“I will speak with Astarion and no one else. Our session here is through for now,” Glorfindel said. He started to get up from his seat, but found a pair of hands upon his shoulders holding him firmly.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to bring up difficult feelings,” Astarion said, sounding more like himself. “Please, let us get back to family and friends. I have not thought of them in many long ages, and I’ve discovered it’s soothing to remember.”

Glorfindel watched as Astarion came around in front of him. Their eyes fastened on each other, but neither one spoke for a moment. It was Astarion who broke the quietness. “I hate that we cannot discuss this.”

Glorfindel saw Astarion’s eyes turn from colorless to blue, a true sign that the Mist had left, for now. “It used your memories to control you for such a long time that it refuses to give up.”

“It used my memories of you, I think you mean.”

“So you do remember?” Glorfindel asked hopeful.

“What I remember is infused with what the Mist placed in my mind, and I cannot separate the two without its knowledge.”

There came the sound of someone walking down the corridor, and both Glorfindel and Astarion became startled. Glorfindel removed himself from the cell, and hurried down the hall to see who it was.

“Lastar,” he said surprised.

“Hello Glorfindel,” Lastar said smoothly.

“Why are you here?”

“Curiosity I guess,” Lastar smiled mischievously.

“There are no visitors of any kind. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave immediately,” Glorfindel spoke sternly.

“Actually, I was looking for you. We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About … Erestor.”


	15. Fading Pages

Glorfindel was shocked to see Lastar within the holding cells. No one ever came here, especially when he was having a session with Astarion. Not even the guards were permitted to stay, something Glorfindel thought he should reconsider. But there had never been a need, since no one would come close to Astarion, fearing him and what he had become. Lastar had mentioned Erestor, and Glorfindel was instantly worried. “Come,” he demanded, taking Lastar roughly by the upper arm, and leading him towards the exit of the corridor. “You should not be here. What is the meaning of this?” Glorfindel reprimanded. He continued pushing the young elf through the hall until they were outside.

“I came here looking for you. There’s something urgent you should know. It has to do with Erestor.” As he spoke, he rushed his words so Glorfindel would not disappear back inside before he had time to talk. Luckily, the mention of Erestor made Glorfindel stop dead and he made no move to release Lastar’s arm.

“You mentioned Erestor already. What has happened to him? What do you know?” Glorfindel inquired pressingly.

Lastar brought himself to his full height and squared his shoulders, ready to defend the only elf he’d ever loved. “Oh, so now you show your concern for him, and here it might be too late.”

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Too late for what? I swear, Lastar, if you are toying with me–”

“I come on my own accord, but on behalf of Erestor. He is not well. He has not been well since coming back from Dol Guldur.”

“What is wrong? Is he still possessed?” Glorfindel inquired.

“What is wrong?” Lastar said with an accusatory tone. “Do you need to ask that question? Have you not looked at him lately? Oh, but you have been too busy with this monster rather than see the ruin you have caused. Erestor is not himself because of you, Glorfindel.”

“I have done nothing to him,” Glorfindel countered.

“My point exactly!” Lastar shouted, irritated with this elf that could level him to the ground with one good cleave. It was a risk he was willing to take. “Have you not looked up at his window as you pass in the morning? Every day, he leaves a candle burning in hopes that you will notice and come to him. And every morning, you walk right on by without a single glance.”

“I noticed the candle, but I did not think it was for me,” Glorfindel admitted.

“Who else would it be for?” Lastar said with frustration. “The point is not about the candle. The point is, Erestor waits for you every … single … day, and you never come to him. He thinks that at any moment you are going to see the truth, that Astarion is incurable, and that you will come back to him.”

“I tried talking to him. I tried to explain my situation, but he would not listen. He gave me an ultimatum instead of hearing me out and understanding the good I am trying to do here,” Glorfindel defended.

“That does not matter now,” Lastar interrupted. “What matters is that Erestor is, in a sense, fading. His soul dims a little bit more every day, and I cannot stand by watching this happen, and not say anything. I know you think you will just cure Astarion and then go back to Erestor as though nothing happened, but I think we both know that is not going to happened. Astarion might seem like he is improving, but you are a very long way from full recovery, if at all. In the meantime, Erestor’s heart holds out hope.”

“Then what do you want me to do about it? I tried talking to him, and he would rather I abandoned my duty to Astarion than to stand by my side, to be there at the end of a very long and trying day,” Glorfindel argued.

“It’s not just about healing Astarion, Glorfindel. It’s about the relationship the two of you had in Gondolin. It’s about unresolved feelings that might have resurfaced between you again. Erestor doesn’t know where that leaves him, but deep down, he knows that you loved Astarion first, and that is what slowly takes his inner light.” Lastar stopped and sighed, gearing himself towards saying the one thing he hoped would change the elf lord’s mind. He took a step closer to him and looked straight into the vivid blue eyes before him.

“You have to let him go, Glorfindel,” Lastar said easily. “Every day that you are here with Astarion, you are a little further away from Erestor, and it is slowly killing him. He told me himself that his heart holds out hope. He will fade from loneliness if you keep him waiting. Now, I don’t know what transpired between the two of you in Dol Guldur, and I don’t know what he said to you to make you think that he does not care, but I am here, as a concerned friend, to ask that you release Erestor from your hold, and save his life. If you are truly set on saving Astarion, then Erestor will not last the duration it will take to bring him back. You cannot have them both, Glorfindel. You are going to have to set one of them free.”

Glorfindel turned back towards the building, and Lastar thought he might leave. Glorfindel’s shoulders slumped slightly. He was in deep thought over this new information. With his back still turned to Lastar, he spoke. “I do love Erestor with all my heart, but the last thing I ever want to do it to hurt him. However, I’ve come too far to abandon Astarion at this point. Despite what you or anyone else might think, he has made great progress. If I leave him now, it will be like Gondolin all over again. If I lose the real Astarion, the darkness will swallow him and never give him back. I cannot let that happen for fear of what might come of it. The enemy is still very strong, and if I can damage them even in the slightest by healing Astarion, then that is what I must do. If Erestor cannot see that then . . .”

“Talk to him, Glorfindel. Let him go so that he can continue with his own healing. Otherwise, it will not be only Astarion that you abandoned and gave no closure to.”

Without speaking another word or looking back, Glorfindel went into the prisoner house, leaving Lastar to wonder if he got through to the elf lord or not.

* * *

Erestor stood in front of a shelf of books, staring at their black leather binding. Canyo kept checking on him from time to time, but he hadn’t moved since first finding him this way. Not knowing what else to do, Canyo called upon Lastar to come quickly. In an instant, the dark haired youth arrived, and now stood beside Canyo, examining the counselor from the end of the aisle.

“And you found him like this?” Lastar asked.

“He’s not moved an inch. He just stands there and stares at the books. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Lastar had a very good idea of what was wrong. Glorfindel had taken his advice. “Tell me, Canyo, does a candle burn in the window this morning?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe not. Seems peculiar doesn’t it?” Canyo asked.

“Will you give us some privacy? I need to speak with Erestor alone,” Lastar requested. Canyo nodded and left.

Lastar slowly walked down the aisle until he stood at Erestor’s side. “This must be an interesting section. According to Canyo, you’ve been here all morning.”

Erestor didn’t answer right away. He continued to stare at the books, and Lastar almost gave up waiting when the counselor finally spoke. “There are so many books in Lord Elrond’s library, and I know each one intimately. I’ve read every one, some more times than others, some just a single time, but read each one I have. I know where each and every book is. I can tell you by aisle, by row, by section. I can tell you what color the binding is, whether it had gold or silver lettering on it, the year it was produced. These books have been my life for a very long time. They have always been my safety when the world outside got hectic, and I buried myself in their pages to avoid facing reality at times. But I was pulled out of this comfort, forced to face the world beyond the doors of the library. And it was sweet for a while. It was new. It was adventure. It was risk. And unlike any of these books, I had no idea how it would end. You see, Lastar, the problem was, I never thought it would end. I was given empty pages to fill, a story to grow and nurture, a … hero … a character to develop. That was my mistake. It was never my character to develop in the first place, and it all got away from me. I fell for the protagonist, like most readers do. I believed in him, trusted him to give me a happy ending. I put my faith, all of it, into this one character, only to find out that he was never the hero, or rather, he was never mine. And like every hero, there has to be someone important to him, someone he needs to rescue, someone who might even rescue him from time to time. I allowed myself to think this was me, and for a long time it was. Now, I’ve come to realize that I was just a disposable character in this story. The book was never mine to write; someone else saw to that, someone who needed rescuing more than I did. And to tell you the truth, I don’t think I ever really needed rescuing. I was fine with my life, happy to stay right here amongst my books and the dust and the mustiness. I feel as though I was used for the sake of someone else’s story, but now, I am lost. I don’t know what to do or where to turn. I look at these books, and … they are different somehow. Their words no longer fulfill me. They no longer entertain. I don’t know, Lastar, it’s as if I was a book and my pages were being erased. There is no other way to describe it.”

Lastar wrapped his arm around Erestor’s and led him to a bench. The counselor felt cold to the touch, and Lastar worried for him. Once they were seated, Lastar spoke. “Does any of this have to do with the unlit candle in your office window?”

“You noticed the candle?” Erestor said with desperate hope.

“Every day it sat in your window, flicking … until today.”

“The flame is gone. The light is done,” Erestor responded.

“You’re scaring me, Erestor. Please, tell me what has happened.”

Erestor shook his head as he looked around at the surrounding books, but Lastar touched his arm and gained his attention. “Alright,” Erestor finally said, and proceeded to tell him what happened.

* * *

Erestor told Lastar how he’d spent another morning watching from his window. He said he’d seen Glorfindel pass by, but this time he’d looked up. Erestor did not tell him how his heart leapt rapidly within his chest as their eyes met for the first time in weeks. He spoke of how he watched as the elf lord turned and came towards his door, but he did not mention how he flew down the stairs with hurried feet to meet his visitor.

The counselor told Lastar that he opened the door to find Glorfindel standing in his threshold, invited him in and offered him tea. He said nothing of the way Glorfindel gazed into his eyes, of how he’d seen a thousand stars dancing within their depths or how much he had missed their brilliance.

They had a seat in the foyer and made small talk before the conversation turned to the real reason for Glorfindel’s visit. Erestor said he sat silently and listened to Glorfindel’s account of Astarion’s progress. He didn’t tell Lastar how the hatred that pulsed in his veins made him want thrash Fin for speaking the name of that wretched creature in his own home.

Finally, Erestor told Lastar how Glorfindel came to him to tell him that he had to set Erestor free, that he had to finish what he’d started all those millennia ago in Gondolin, and that it was not fair to drag Erestor along on a journey that might not have an end. Erestor did not tell Lastar how his soul felt like it had been stripped of its flesh and set on fire as Glorfindel told him he was leaving, or of how Glorfindel kissed him one last time, apologizing as their lips parted, or how he slapped Glorfindel across his beautiful face, hoping to leave him with a memory of pain like the one he now felt in his heart. There were a lot of things that Erestor kept to himself, things that he would never tell anyone of how he’d lost his love the day the candle went out.

“I am empty, Lastar,” Erestor admitted. “Everything that I am has been depleted. I’m an empty shell, and I do not think I can go on. The books, they give me no harbor as they once did. I cannot go back to the way I once was. Not even the library brings me comfort or safety from what I fear awaits me.”

“What are you saying, Erestor, that you will fade now that Glorfindel has left you? Is this not a selfish decision?”

Erestor turned on Lastar, narrowing his eyes. “What else can I do?” he said through clenched teeth. “He had my heart. He had my soul.”

“And he gave them back. You just need time to heal, and you need someone to help you. Let me be there for you. Let me in, Erestor, if as nothing else then as a friend. I will not let you suffer. I will not let you fade. You are still needed here. I still need you. I’ve helped you before. Was it not I who vanquished the blackness on your heart? I healed you then, I can heal you now if you’ll just allow it.”

“Why? Why do you care?” Erestor asked.

“I just do. I don’t have any other explanation. I have always cared.” Lastar cupped Erestor’s face and searched his eyes. “When everything else seems like it is spinning out of control, let me be your anchor.”

“It is true, you have always been there, even when I cast you out. And here you are again.” Erestor looked away, shaking his head. “I’ve been a horrible friend to you. I’ve yelled, I’ve turned you away. And yet, you are by my side once more.”

“As I said, I will always be there for you.”

“Thank you, dearest Lastar, thank you.”

* * *

Weeks passed and Erestor was having an awful time of it. Everywhere he went, everything he saw or touched or smelled reminded him of Glorfindel. He was at his wits end. There was nowhere to go that he could escape from the ghosts of his former lover. He’d made sure he was scarce when he knew Glorfindel would be out and about, locking himself away inside the library or in his home or office. Erestor felt like a prisoner to his own life, and Glorfindel was his warden. He wondered that it was not much different than the life of the real prisoner, except that Astarion had Glorfindel and possibly his love. The thought sickened him to the point that he could not eat or sleep. His friends, Elladan and Elrohir visited him often, always trying to find ways to cheer him up or take his mind off his troubles, but it was no use. Nothing could stop his thoughts from wandering, especially in the darkest hours of the night. It was during these times when Erestor would wander the city, looking for a place to disappear and finding none. Oh how tempting it would be to give in to the desolation and fade from loneliness. If it weren’t for Lastar’s friendship, he might have done just that. Lastar would not have it, and did anything and everything within his power to keep the counselor on the bright side of the light, and not snuff out like a candle.

Erestor was within the library one day when Canyo came looking for him. He’d had a bit of exciting news to share about finally deciphering some ancient dwarfish language that he’d been working on for weeks. He thought it might help to enliven Erestor a bit, at least he could try.

The counselor was impressed with his apprentice’s advancement, but he failed to get as excited as his assistant. Canyo looked at him with pity and concern, and Erestor hated it, hated Glorfindel for putting him in this predicament, hated the Witch-king for handing Astarion back to the elf he belonged with.

“Erestor, you do not look well today,” Canyo acknowledged.

“Just today?” Erestor asked with an edge to his voice. “I must be slipping. I’ll try harder from here on out.”

Canyo started to leave, but he stopped himself and decided to confront the irritable counselor. “I know this has been difficult for you–”

“Difficult is an understatement.” Erestor interrupted.

“Well, I can’t help but notice your decline, and as your assistant, I feel it is my duty to tell you when I think you are about to go off the edge of a cliff.”

Slightly shocked by Canyo’s forwardness, Erestor turned his attention onto the youth. “I’m beyond the cliff’s edge. I’m tumbling down a rocky jagged slope in which I cannot hit the bottom soon enough.”

“What you need is to get away from all of this for a while. You need to go somewhere and let yourself begin healing so it will be easier to deal with. Go somewhere unfamiliar, make new memories, strengthen and come back ready to fight your demons.”

“Easier said than done, Canyo,” Erestor said with attitude. “You seem to be an expert all of a sudden. Tell me, where shall I go? Perhaps the treacherous forests of Mirkwood might be a diversion. Or I could wander under the mysterious boughs of Fangorn, and hope an Ent mistakes me for an orc. Better yet, why don’t I just run straight into a troop of the foul creatures and let things come to pass naturally.” Perhaps then he might be worthy of Glorfindel’s affection again, he said to himself as an afterthought.

Unaffected by Erestor’s arrogant response, Canyo moved around behind him. His words sounded muffled at first, but then they cleared up and sounded nothing like Canyo’s voice. Erestor froze. “It is building within you, the hatred upon your heart and soul. That kind of power could prove to be quite dangerous for some, or an advantage to others.”

Erestor cocked his head to one side and listened suspiciously. “What did you say to me?” It sounded familiar.

“You are wasting your energy on this. Redirect it and use it to your benefit.”

“Redirect it how?”

“Only you know where it could lead you, Librarian.” The words came out in an echo and the name sent a chill running through Erestor’s spine.

He closed his eyes tight to clear his sight and his thoughts. When he opened them, Canyo was watching him as if confused by Erestor’s actions. “Are you alright, Counselor? You seemed to black out for a moment. You did not answer me.”

Confused, Erestor recovered quickly and feigned a smile. “I thought you called me … never mind. Now, what were you saying?”

“I said that I thought you had been cooped up in the library for far too long, and perhaps a stroll in the fresh air might do you some good.”

Maybe Erestor misunderstood his assistant. He’d said library, not librarian. That was a term that the Nazgûl used when speaking to him, and he’d somehow confused the two. He tried to justify the moment, but something niggled the back of his thoughts.

Canyo smiled, ignoring the strange moment. Perhaps it was only strange to Erestor. “Well, it really is none of my business, now is it? But just so you know, if you take the notion, I will be glad to see to things here for a while. I’ve got a handle on the library and all the tasks that Lord Elrond sends our way.”

“Extra work on your part won’t be necessary. I have no plans to go anywhere, but thank you, Canyo.” Erestor said. He turned and walked away from his assistant, slightly abashed from the peculiar exchange. Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It seemed to happen a lot lately.

* * *

The word ‘Librarian’ kept running through Erestor’s head. Where had that come from? Why was it haunting him? ‘Redirect the hatred’, it said. How? Erestor wondered.

He laid down on his cold bed and stared up at the ceiling. Slowly his eyes closed, though he wished to stay awake. He hadn’t slept in many days, not uncommon, but even the elves needed a time of reprieve every now and then, and Erestor was pushing his limits. Truth was, he was afraid to sleep, worried that the nightmares would return. The vision he’d seen in the Palantír came to him often, of destruction and death, black smoke and bitterly pungent air that stung his eyes and burned his nose. And he was king of this desolate land, and the orcs were his bootlicking cohorts. Power was in his cold hands. Vengeance was a way of life. It was all that he thought of, but patience kept him in check. He would get his revenge. The Seeing Stone had showed him as much.

Erestor woke, gasping for air, sweat soaking his pillow. He cursed himself for allowing sleep to take over. The nightmares would not cease except when he was awake. He got up and decided to walk the city again, as was his habit. There wasn’t a soul around; it was usually abandoned at this hour. Where to go tonight, The Hall of Fire? No, too many ghostly memories. The gardens? He’d been there so many times, it was becoming repetitious and dull. He’d not dare go towards the training grounds where Glorfindel’s residence was close to, or in the direction of the holding cells. There was nothing on that side of the city anyways, except for the secret passage that led out of the protective valley. Instead, he crossed a bridge and took an old beaten path that led towards one of the tallest waterfalls in the city. Erestor hadn’t been there since his youth as a soldier. After a hard day of training, he enjoyed coming to the waters to heal his cuts and bruises. The mist from the falls had a soothing affect, and he would stand naked and let the water coat his skin until he was drenched. Perhaps he would do that again. It couldn’t hurt, anyways. Anything to get the remnants of the nightmare out of his conscious thoughts.

He was not surprised to find that he was not the only one who knew about this hollowed out spot behind the waterfall, but he was taken off guard at the sight of who was here now. Erestor halted and hid behind a rock that jetted out beside the entrance. The moon was at its highest, so full and bright that it almost seemed like day. The cascading water looked like liquid silver tumbling down endlessly. It completely hid the alcove behind it, making this a very secretive place, but not so elusive that no one else knew about it. However, finding someone practicing the art of healing as Erestor once had, was somewhat of a shock. Lastar.

Erestor had always thought he was beautiful, with light alabaster skin, flawlessly smooth, the lithe elvish body of a youth who had not practiced in the art of war, yet still masculine and lightly muscled, and touchable, silky, ebony hair that just reached the center of his back. Erestor knew he should not look, but it was truly a sight to behold. The light of the moon illuminated the water, and it gleamed off of Lastar’s naked body. He shined like a jewel from head to toe, his arms stretched over his head as he ran his fingers through his hair. His face was upturned, eyes closed, as he enjoyed the coolness of the water’s mist settling over his desirable form. Erestor actually felt himself stir, and berated himself for it. He should not be here, watching this lovely ellon as he reveled in a moment of private solitude. Yet, Erestor found he could not look away. Long had it been since he’d felt another’s touch or seen another vulnerable in his flesh. Lastar really was gorgeous, and if it hadn’t been for Glor–

He quickly snuffed the thought of the elf lord, probably coddling Astarion as the vision flitted across his mind. Could he not have one enjoyable trice without thinking of … him? The moment slipped away quickly, and Erestor started to move away from his hiding spot, but his foot kicked a loosened rock, and the sound echoed within the alcove. He heard Lastar gasp and call out, “Who’s there?”

Erestor winced, ashamed to have been gawking. He tried to escape without discovery, but Lastar called again. “I know someone is there.”

With no other alternative, Erestor swallowed hard and called back, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s alright. It’s just me,” he answered, eyes scrunched shut in embarrassment.

“Erestor?” Lastar called back.

Erestor stuck his arm out from behind the rock and waved a hand in the air. “I did not mean to intrude. I was up and I was looking for somewhere to go, which led me here and I was just coming here to think and … I … I … oh ballocks. I’m leaving now.”

As he was trying to explain his sudden appearance, he hadn’t noticed Lastar had moved and was now standing at the alcove entrance. “I don’t mind, you know,” he said in a sultry voice.

Shocked to find Lastar so close, Erestor’s eyes flew open, and out of reflex, quickly scanned the dark haired youth from head to toe and back up. He could feel his skin break into a sweat, or was that the mist from the falls.

“Is everything alright, Erestor?” Lastar asked.

Erestor wanted to run, but he couldn’t now. Instead, he smiled as though nothing was wrong and planted his vision on Lastar’s face. “Everything is fine.”

“If everything was fine, you would not be here,” Lastar said. He could tell by Erestor’s squirming that the counselor was skittish. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Just a tad.”

“I really don’t mind. After all, it’s only flesh.” Lastar’s fingers touched Erestor’s arm.

“I … I had no idea … and I was unprepared,” Erestor stammered. Damn his eyes. They couldn’t help but travel down and back up quickly.

Lastar smiled infectiously, taking joy in Erestor’s state of discomfort. “I’ll spare you any more embarrassment,” he said as he turned back to where his clothes lay upon a rock. “Well, come in here before someone suspects you are spying on me.”

Erestor looked over his shoulder and up the path he had taken. It would be unlikely that anyone else would be here, but he still needed to make sure.

“Why are you so conscious anyways? I think there are quite a few who would be thrilled to see you have moved on,” Lastar said as he slipped into his tan trousers.

“They might be happy, but that’s really up to me now, isn’t it?”

Lastar, barefoot and shirtless, strode over to Erestor. “Takes two to be happy.” His fingers played with the rope belt tied at Erestor’s waist.

Erestor reined in his urges and gave a stern look. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

“Don’t you remember? You told me about this place once, and about the healing mist. I thought I would give it a try. You were right. It is very invigorating.” Lastar gave him a questioning look. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Erestor turned his eyes to the ground and shook his head. “I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

“The nighttime tends to haunt us, doesn’t it?”

“More than you know,” Erestor whispered. He looked up and fronted a smile for his friend. “Well, I suppose I should go–”

“No, please. I wouldn’t mind some company, if you are up for it,” Lastar suggested.

“I don’t know. It’s awfully late and–”

“I’ve a flask in my bag,” Lastar offered. “Miruvor, in fact.”

Erestor’s eyebrows shot up. “Miruvor? That’s a rare treat. How did you come about to have any? The only stock I know of is locked away in Elrond’s private chambers.”

Lastar smiled deviously. “I can be persuasive when I need to be.”

Erestor’s mouth flapped open and closed like a fish, finding nothing to add. Lastar laughed. “Relax, Counselor. It was a gift from Lord Elrond … for saving your hide actually. I carry it with me just in case.”

“In case of what?” Erestor wondered aloud.

“Oh … an occasion such as this.” Lastar cocked his head to the side, signaling for Erestor to follow. They disappeared behind the watery screen, and Lastar went to his pack to retrieve a silver flask wrapped in red leather. He pulled the cork out and handed it to Erestor.

Erestor looked at the flask, and then to Lastar, who gestured for him to drink. He raised the flattened container to his lips and took a small sip. One did not take in too much Miruvor. I could be quite a potent mead, used to help revitalize a tired soul, and Erestor’s soul was exhausted. The sweet warmth of the drink traveled luxuriously down his throat, purled in his stomach, and made him come alive once again. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Elrond for a little bit of the stuff himself. As tired as he was lately, mentally and physically, this was just the boost he needed.

He handed the flask back to Lastar, who took it and sipped. “Ah, the Cordial of Imladris,” Lastar said smiling. “It carries the power to grant vigor and strength.”

“Refreshing,” Erestor added.

They each took another sip and Lastar studied Erestor a moment before speaking. “More nightmares?”

Erestor brought the flask back to his lips, nodding before he drank again. He knew three sips were too many, but at this point he really didn’t care. Seeing Lastar in the flesh had awakened something inside him, and having him here, still half naked, was a powerful temptation, but one he resisted.

“Do you want to tell me about it, if it might help you?” Lastar offered.

Erestor slowly lowered the flask, handing it back to Lastar, and breathed long and deep. “It’s more of the same, like the visions I told you about.” His eyes came up to meet Lastar’s. “Do you think it is still inside me, the dark serpent?”

Lastar shrugged. “I don’t know. To be honest, I’m not sure how I helped chase it away the first time. Something just … overcame me, and I knew I had to do something. It wasn’t you, back in Dol Guldur. When you came out of that broken tower, it wasn’t you.”

“Is it me now?” Erestor asked, desperation in his voice.

Lastar moved fluidly and came to stand before Erestor. He cupped the side of the counselor’s face with his hand, and gently stroked his cheek with his thumb. “It is you, but you are changed. It’s not that it’s a bad thing, but you seem … lonely, for loss of a better word.”

For the first time, Erestor admitted his feelings aloud. “I am lonely, and it is the right word. Perhaps the Nazgûl still have some hold over my unconscious thoughts, and that is why they come to me in dreams, preying on me while I’m weak. They are trying to tempt me.”

“And you fear you will give in to them?” Lastar asked, as the tips of his fingers traveled along Erestor’s straight jaw.

“I am not easily persuaded,” Erestor said, but there was the slightest waver in his voice.

“Yes,” Lastar smiled, “I have come to that realization, for I have tried many times to no avail. Of course, you were unattainable then.”

“Lastar,” Erestor whispered, closing his eyes. “I … I really shouldn’t–” His words were cut off by Lastar’s slow sweet kiss, lips upon lips, steadily holding together in such a way that slowly warmed each other. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but the first time that Erestor allowed himself to enjoy it.

Lastar was being very careful, and not wanting to chase the counselor away, he ended the kiss. His eyes met Erestor’s for a brief moment before they looked away towards the gleaming water of the falls, a reminder that they were alone. When he turned back to Erestor, the look upon his face said that the counselor had come to his senses yet again. Just like every time that Lastar tried to persuade him, resistance won out again. Lastar feigned a smile, sadness in his eyes. “Can’t blame me for trying. I thought, maybe now … now that it was just you–”

“I’m sorry, Lastar. You are truly beautiful, and I find that I am attracted to you, but … my heart–”

“Please, say no more,” Lastar said as a huffed laugh. “We are still friends first and foremost. That’s what matters most.”

Erestor cocked his head to the side and reached for the single ebony braid that hung at Lastar’s temple. He tried to think of something to say, something that would make the moment better. Nothing came to mind, and he let the braid slip from his fingertips. With that, Erestor turned to leave the alcove. He made his way up the beaten path, but he stopped and looked over his shoulder, taking one more glance at the waterfall. It still amazed Erestor how nature kept going as if there were no problems in the world. Birds did not stop singing because war broke out. Flowers did not stop blooming because death and destruction was upon someone’s doorstep. This waterfall would continue to turn, even if all the elves ceased to exist. Erestor himself would live yet another day, even if Glorfindel was gone from his life. So why was he letting himself become so absorbed in sorrow? Why did he feel he could not allow himself to feel joy again? Behind this cascade of brilliant moonlit water was someone who he knew loved him, who had pined for him for a long time, who was not afraid to take a chance. It was obvious to Erestor that he was not completely numb. Seeing Lastar’s nakedness, his gorgeous body, had stirred his manhood. He couldn’t say he was moved in any other way. Perhaps it was too soon for that, but he could hope it might turn into something, couldn’t he?

‘Take him,’ said a voice from inside himself, but Erestor was scared, afraid that he might want Lastar for the wrong reasons, especially after knowing how strongly Lastar felt for him.

Erestor found his feet carrying him back to the alcove, whether his mind wanted to or not. Like a magnet, he was being carried by some unseen force. He looked around the rock, finding Lastar putting the flask of Miruvor back in his bag. He was still shirtless, wearing only his pants, bending down as he packed away his things.

“I will not let Glorfindel come between me and my thoughts or needs,” Erestor said to himself. “He made his choice when he cast me aside. I must move on.”

He moved stealthily towards Lastar, and stopped only inches away. Lastar stood, back still turned, but stiffened as he obviously discovered he was not alone. He did not move an inch, waiting for Erestor to make the first move. Lastar had always acted first. Perhaps he was telling Erestor it was his turn. The counselor brought his hands up to lay them upon Lastar’s shoulders, but he stopped, palms hovering just above the young ellon’s silky skin, so close he could feel the heat radiating out. He knew Lastar wanted him. That was not what stopped him. It was the fact that he was about to make a decision that would make it final between him and Glorfindel … that they were in fact no more.

“You know my heart is too shattered to give to you,” he said to Lastar.

“If it is only a small sliver that you offer, then I would cherish it, and treat you as you were meant to be treated, with compassion and care, respect and love, for I have always wanted this.”

“I’ve always said that if things were different . . . Well, now they are. I don’t want to be lonely anymore, but I don’t want to hurt you either,” Erestor admitted.

“I don’t believe you could hurt me. And if I can only have you in this one moment, then it will last me an eternity,” Lastar said as he turned to face Erestor. “It is your choice, for you know how I feel.”

Erestor knew he could not think too long about what he was doing. He could feel himself start to deny his needs, and squashed it by taking Lastar by the arms and pulling him forward. He searched Lastar’s eyes, finding love that had always been there, and wondered what could be seen in his own eyes, for he knew it was not love. He couldn’t look into their depths for too long or he would stop himself. The only thing left to do was to kiss Lastar and break the contact of their stare. Erestor’s hand contoured the back of Lastar’s head, and then he was kissing the young elf with hunger. This time it was not kind or sweet. It was lust. It was desire. And it felt magnificent.

Lastar’s hands had found their way inside Erestor’s robes where their coolness was a shock to the counselor’s warm skin. He made quick work of the material, shedding the layers until they lay in a heap at Erestor’s feet.

Erestor’s fingers fumbled with the laces of Lastar’s trousers. Once loosened, he pushed them down, grabbed Lastar’s taut arse and pulled him against his own naked body. No time to think about what he was doing or he’d stop, which was why he stopped Lastar from getting on his knees. Lastar looked up at him in confusion. “Not like that. Let me take you … here … in the mist.”

Lastar turned around, his back towards the counselor, and Erestor pushed him against a moss-covered wall. His hand traveled along Lastar’s hip until he had a hold of the younger elf’s cock. His own was painfully hard, needing to be sheathed. Lastar assumed such a position, leaning forward slightly with his hands on the wall. He was just the right height, Erestor thought to himself. It all happened so quickly, and Erestor found himself pounding Lastar against the wall, thrusting deep, and becoming highly aroused by Lastar’s pleas to move harder, faster, and deeper. His hand was still pumping up and down Lastar’s shaft, and Lastar’s own hand covered his. Suddenly, Lastar threw his head back and cried out in pure blissful satisfaction, his seed covering both their hands. It was too much to keep controlling himself, and Erestor pulled Lastar up so that he could sink his teeth into the other’s shoulder as his own desire took him, spilling himself within Lastar. He held the youth against him, enjoying the feel of pulsating in the tight space, and eventually softening. Their bodies were slick with a combination of sweat, mist, and viscid fluid. It took a moment to catch their breath.

“I find that I do not want to move,” Erestor whispered behind Lastar’s ear.

“I do not want to leave this alcove,” Lastar said with a smile upon his satisfied lips.

They held each other for a while longer until Erestor separated from Lastar reluctantly. Finally, Lastar turned in Erestor’s arms so that they were facing each other. He kissed the counselor, his hand twisting in the other’s long straight sable hair. “I can’t believe that I finally have you,” Lastar said, “Even if it is just a small part of you.”

“Give me time, Lastar. This was a big step for me, for both of us really, but I … I do not regret it,” Erestor admitted carefully.

“I guess there’s something to say about your lack of persuasion and my persistence,” Lastar jested. “Now, let me take you.”

It had been easier to initiate the sex. Erestor was in control taking the dominant position. Lastar wanted to change rolls, and that made Erestor feel very vulnerable, for this is how he was with Glorfindel. He felt nervous and afraid. What if he could not go through with it? He’d warned Lastar that his heart was cold. But then, a part of him wanted Lastar to dominate him. Perhaps it would erase some of the old feelings he had, like turning a new page, producing a new script. Suddenly, he saw this as an empty journal. He’d written the first few pages just now as he took control of Lastar. Now Lastar wanted his part to play, and Erestor knew he must let him. No more thoughts of Fin. No more comparisons. This was a new beginning, a title to his new story, not another chapter of the old one.

Erestor watched as Lastar strode naked across their small hiding place, picked up his bag and removed a thin blanket, rolled tight so that it fit in the bag. He shook it out and laid it down on a patch of moss that grew on the far side of the cave. The moisture would seep through, but neither elf cared at the moment.

Lastar inched his finger at Erestor, gesturing for him to come over. Erestor walked to the blanket and took Lastar’s outstretched hands. They sat down and Lastar pulled Erestor onto his lap.

“I thought you wanted to–”

“I do,” Lastar interrupted, “but I want to watch you too. It’s more intimate, don’t you think?”

They kissed again, tongues caressing, voices moaning. Erestor slipped backwards and brought himself down upon Lastar’s eager arousal. Lastar threw his head back, his long black hair cascading down to touch the blanket. Erestor moved his body up and down along Lastar’s hardness, and the youth’s eyes opened, settling on Erestor’s hazel depths. The counselor was a little uncomfortable with this, and he captured Lastar’s neck with is mouth, tasting the salt upon his flesh. It was a long fine neck, beautiful glowing heated skin. He couldn’t help but notice that even though Lastar wanted to be sheathed, he still let Erestor be in such a position that he dominated the act. That made all this easier and new … and exciting.

Their breathing became rapid as they both approached climax. And then, Lastar took a fist full of Erestor’s hair and pulled him away. Their eyes met again, but Erestor was inclined to look away.

“Erestor, please,” Lastar begged between panting breaths. “Look at me. Let me help heal your broken heart. Let me see into your soul.”

Erestor tried, and he looked into Lastar’s eyes. But all he saw was someone who loved him when he could not return the feelings, and it suddenly seemed wrong. He shut his eyes. “I … I can’t. Just let it be like this.”

Lastar arched his back and pulled Erestor’s head to his own. With their lips only a hair’s width apart, he whispered. “Alright, this time anyways.”

They wrapped their arms around each other. Lastar’s hips pumped forward as Erestor’s body came down upon him. It was deep and it touched that one place that sent Erestor over the edge, tumbling out of control along the waves of ecstasy. Lastar pulsated and spilled as Erestor came. They crushed their bodies against each other and Lastar whispered. “I love you, Erestor.”

Erestor spilled between their slickened bodies right at the moment of Lastar’s confession. The words mixed with the lust for his release, and he felt shame for not being able to answer Lastar with the same. Instead, he cried out almost as though in pain. “Don’t … don’t say that to me. Don’t EVER say that!”

In an instant, Erestor pushed himself off of Lastar and stood, his legs still weak from lack of blood flow. He stumbled to the wall of the alcove and started banging his fist against it. A primal scream filled his lungs and left them in a roar. Anger festered to the surface. It wasn’t because Lastar said this to him, but because the last time he heard those three words, they came from Glorfindel’s lips. Guilt, lust, anger and shame … it all mixed together and erupted.

Lastar had come to him, but Erestor hadn’t heard him move. He was suddenly being embraced, the young ellon’s warm breath on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Erestor. Maybe I should not have said that, but I must speak the truth. You’ve known this. It surely doesn’t come as a surprise.”

“But I cannot hear those words, not right now, not while it is still painful.”

“I don’t need you to answer me. I just need to tell you. I can wait, Erestor, really I can.”

“And if I can never say them back to you?”

Lastar didn’t answer. Perhaps he always thought that Erestor would come around, but the reality was, he might never tell another soul those three little words. “I’ve hurt you, and I said it didn’t want to do that,” Erestor said.

“I am not hurt, but I am patient,” Lastar answered.

Erestor’s ire came back in full force. “I have to be honest with you, Lastar. Even now, after making love, after enjoying your touch, after accepting the fact that I must move on, my mind is still occupied with Glorfindel. I find it difficult to look into your eyes and see your love, for I have none to give in return. He has that, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel it again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly free of him, and that is not fair to you. I … I just needed to feel something … anything besides the emptiness, and there you were, beautiful and naked. I should not have done this. I’ve given you false hope, no matter what you might say about this being enough.”

“Come back and sit,” Lastar urged. He took Erestor by the arm and pulled lightly. “Let’s talk about this. Let me reassure you–”

Erestor resisted. “I should not have done this,” he repeated. “I’ve involved you for my own lustful needs. It’s not right. It’s … not … right.”

“I would wait an eternity for you if that’s what it takes,” Lastar said to convince him. “But look around you, Erestor. Who are you with right now? Who was with you in Dol Guldur, fighting for you? Who freed you from the Nazgûl’s hold? Who loved you enough and was there when you needed comfort?” Lastar took Erestor in his arms and forced him to look at his face. “Who has always said you deserved better than him? Be free of Glorfindel once and for all. You don’t have to love me, just be with me and let me help you heal.”

Erestor’s mind was a mess. His feet were planted to the ground. He could not speak to accept or refuse Lastar’s offer, and he could not resist when the younger elf dropped to his knees and captured his cock in his mouth, giving him satisfaction yet again. As he spilled into the warm eager mouth, the vision from the Palantír flashed before him, of an army of orcs on their knees, of the power he held over them, a power he felt he held over Lastar, using him for selfish reasons. An oily voice crept into his mind.

“See how it feels to take the one. Now imagine the power you could have over them all. Your knowledge is your power, Librarian.”

“No!” Erestor yelled, as he pushed Lastar away, knocking him to the ground. His eyes looked wildly around the alcove, searching for the owner of the voice. Why was this happening? He thought, and suddenly it came to him. Something was powering his thoughts and the reoccurring nightmares, something close like a receptor that could keep him in a constant state of fear and hatred, altering his mind, controlling him to a degree. It was not as strong as looking into the Seeing Stone, or having the Witch-king in his head, but it was enough to confuse him and bring doubt.

“It’s him!” he called. “It’s the creature. He will help destroy us from the inside. The Palantír was not wrong. It showed me my future, one that will happen if that … thing stays in Imladris. He must be destroyed.”

“What are you talking about?” Lastar asked, confused.

“My nightmares, they showed me what could come to pass if I had taken the Nazgûl’s offer, but I refused. Now, they are trying to force it to happen by using their spy. Don’t you see? It’s Astarion. He is their weapon. As long as he is within Rivendell, none of us are safe. He’s taken control of Glorfindel, weakened him, and separated him from the rest of us. And now he’s using me, instilling anger and hatred, watching it grow and spread until it ruins us all. They want me for my knowledge, the Nazgûl … Sauron. They want to turn me into one of them, to know all that I know, find our weaknesses, and use it to destroy whole kingdoms until they dominate the world. If I don’t stop Astarion, Rivendell will be first. Then, the darkness will spread. Bree, Rohan, Gondor, none will be spared. It all goes along with Sauron’s plan to find The One Ring.” Erestor helped Lastar to his feet. Then he grabbed his clothes and dressed quickly.

“You’re scaring me, Erestor. Where are you going?” Lastar said worriedly.

“No one else can stop this madness but me. I’m going to confront Astarion, and I’ll kill him if that’s what must be done.”

“You can’t!” Lastar yelled. “That is kin slaying. You’ll be punished, locked away, maybe even executed.”

“Astarion is not one of us anymore. He hasn’t been for a very long time. Glorfindel’s plan to rescue him and heal him is futile. But if I destroy the ruined one, the connection to the Dark Lord will be severed. I must do this. I’ve nothing else to lose anyways.”

Lastar’s heart broke to hear this, but he knew it was a risk to love Erestor and to hope he could ever love him back. “I’m coming with you,” he demanded.

“No! You mustn’t come anywhere near us. Stay here or go home, Lastar, but do not come. I will not hesitate to make sure you cannot follow.” Erestor’s voice was brooding and dark, and his hand reached for a knife that he kept inside his robe. “If you love me as you say, if there is any hope that I may some day be able to return those feelings, then you will stay away and wait for me to come to you.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at Lastar. Then, he left the alcove and did not look back.


	16. Love Eternal

Erestor left the alcove, left the waterfall, and abandoned Lastar. His body was still feeling after effects of their love making, but the anger and guilt was beginning to numb him. He knew all along that it was wrong to give in to his lust. How would he ever be able to face Lastar again? Even their friendship was ruined now. Erestor did not love him, and he wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to have those kind of lasting feelings for him. He had just wanted to shed the loneliness for a while. He could have done that with anybody that was willing to have a temporary tryst. But it had been Lastar that he came upon, alone in the alcove behind the waterfall. There had been some safety in knowing that Lastar wanted him, but his love for Erestor made all of this very difficult and confusing.

That should have been the least of his problems, and perhaps it was, when he thought about all the times the visions reoccurred. Up until recently, Erestor had been able to keep them at bay, for they only invaded his mind in his sleep. But lately, they were getting stronger and creeping upon him in the waking hours. He would open a book and the words would play tricks on his mind, jumbling and reorganizing in the form of words he’d heard the Witch-king say. And then there was the incident with Canyo, when he could have sworn he heard that defiled voice tell him to embrace the hatred and let it empower him. But it was just now, when he was making love to Lastar, that he’d heard the voice once again, and realized that something was trying to control him, twisting his thoughts, making him think that he was selfish and uncaring, that taking Lastar with no real feelings for the ellon was the first step to dominating the world. Erestor had heard an evil laugh in the distant reaches of his mind, and knew who it was. Astarion.

He was no longer an elf. There was nothing useful within that form anymore. And he was using Glorfindel, and perhaps others, as a way to infiltrate Erestor’s life. It was beginning to make sense, and he knew he had to do something. It was no longer about Glorfindel or Lastar. It was about breaking Erestor’s spirit until his soul was so desolate and lost that the only thing he could do was give it over to the Nazgûl. The hatred made him want revenge, and what better way to exact punishment than to relinquish his soul to the ones that could help him deliver it. Another part of the vision had been to seek out Glorfindel and torture him as he had once done to Erestor, for torture it had been ever since they came out of Dol Guldur. And now, Erestor had gotten Lastar mixed up in all of this.

“As long as he listens to me and stays away,” he thought to himself as he made his way to the prison building. The hour was still late, he was sure that Glorfindel would not be there. There would be at least an hour before Fin would take his daily track along the streets of the city, and begin another day of delivering treatment. That would be enough time to confront Astarion, beat him down, and make him confess his wickedness to Glorfindel. Fin had to know what was going on, that it was not about saving a tortured soul, but creating one … Erestor’s.

The prison was dark and abandoned except for a single guard at the guardhouse. Erestor approached him and meant to walk past, but he was stopped.

“I was … uh, instructed by Lord Glorfindel to come and speak with the prisoner first thing,” Erestor lied.

“I’ve been given no instructions other than to turn anyone and everyone away but for Lord Glorfindel. I’m sorry, Lord Erestor. You’ll have to–” The guard swallowed his words when he saw the hilt of a sword as Erestor pushed aside his robe.

“I will not hesitate to slice you and let you bleed out your life force onto the ground. I’ve business with the prisoner, and you will let me in,” Erestor threatened.

The guard regained his position of control. “You dare to threaten an officer of the Imladris army? You’ll be arrested, and then you’ll have plenty of time to talk with the prisoner inside.”

Not as young and vulnerable as he looks, Erestor thought to himself. Obviously, this elf was well trained and would not cower to anyone. Time to change tactics. Erestor smiled kindly. “I apologize. Perhaps I did not make myself clear. I’ve been given instruction by Lord Glorfindel, your commanding officer if I’m not mistaken, and you will allow me inside.”

“Absolutely not. Unless you bring me written orders from Lord Glorfindel, then I’m afraid you must leave,” the guard said, unforgivingly.

“Very well,” Erestor smiled. “If you need it in writing . . .” Erestor turned and walked away, and waited until he thought the guard was not looking before he glanced over his shoulder. Once he was out of sight, Erestor disappeared into the shrubbery, and snuck back to the guard’s post. Of course, he knew he’d never actually use his sword against an innocent ellon just following orders, but the rock he picked up and now carried would serve him better. With quiet stealth, Erestor snuck up behind the guard, lifting the rock in the air, and brought it down with determined force. The guard never knew what happened, and fell limp as a rag to the ground. Erestor dragged him off into the bushes, where he hoped he would remain unconscious long enough to carry out his plan. Checking the area once more and finding it deserted, Erestor entered the prison building and made his way towards the sloping corridor.

The smell was horrible, like stale urine and unwashed clothes. The air was damp and had that classic mustiness to it, not unlike the dungeons of Dol Guldur. Actually, Rivendell’s prison smelled like a garden compared to the reek of that horrid place, where death always scented the air. Here, it was not death, but something unclean and evil, sour like a festering wound.

“Glorfindel, is that you? It is still early,” Astarion called from down the corridor. His voice told Erestor that he was close to the cell that held the prisoner, and his hand went to the hilt of Aicalango, Erestor’s sword. He moved along on the shadowed side of the corridor. There the light did not touch that side, and he stopped in front of Astarion’s cage.

The ancient one narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness. Erestor could see the blue hue of his eyes. Last time he’d met Astarion, they were white with fog. Maybe Glorfindel was right about the healing procedures, but he still did not trust that Astarion was the elf from Gondolin.

“Glorfindel? Why are you hiding in shadow?” Astarion asked curiously.

Erestor stepped into the filtering light and let him see who his visitor was. Astarion’s face looked shocked at first, as he tried to figure out who the intruder was. And then the eyes turned to dangerous slits, the blue fading to white.

“Erestor,” Astarion said welcomingly with menace. “What a surprise to see you here. I didn’t think you would come visiting so soon, but I am glad you are here. Come to grovel and threaten me to stay away from Glorfindel? Because if that is the case, it is too late, don’t you think?”

“The only thing I’m late in doing is killing you. I should have done it when you asked it of me,” Erestor said through clenched teeth.

“Ah, yes. Astarion managed to dominate that particular conversation. It was a surprise to see anyone within the tower and we were unprepared for company. Fortunately, our control over him is much stronger than anyone might think. Well,” the strange voice laughed, “you saw that for yourself. Astarion did a splendid job of slicing Glorfindel’s back. He is quite thorough at following directions.”

“And you are a fool to think it would be that easy to destroy one as mighty as Glorfindel.”

“Well now, he wasn’t really our goal, but I see you have figured that out by now,” Astarion said arrogantly. “So, what is on your agenda now? I know by Glorfindel’s desolate state that you are not here for him, yet . . .” Astarion paused and sniffed the air. “I sense the recent activities upon your person.” He laughed like a deep drum. “You move much quicker than I gave you credit for. Already found new flesh to enjoy? I wonder if Glorfindel knows. He, by the way, has not made any move towards another, not even me, no matter what you might think.”

Erestor ignored his comments and moved closer to the cell. “I am here for one reason, to finish what I should have done in Dol Guldur.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Astarion ridiculed. “A story I’ve heard before. Glorfindel thinks he can save this soul and you think you must destroy it. Well, I’ve news for you, Librarian, this is nothing but an empty vessel.”

“One that you’ve turned into a weapon for destruction,” Erestor said. “I know why you are here. I know you have used Glorfindel to bring Astarion to Rivendell. He guards the creature as a dwarf will protect his treasure. And you have managed to ruin the one thing that means most to me.”

Astarion laughed again. “I find that hard to believe … the part about the ‘one thing’. If that was true, you would not smell like a filthy dog who has just fucked a bitch in heat.” He stepped towards Erestor, only the bars of the cell separating them. “No, what you came here for is to try to make things right again, for the guilt upon your heart is much too heavy. When are you going to learn to throw out those useless feelings? Ah, but there is anger there too. Now that is more like it. My favorite kind, as a matter of fact. So much can be accomplished when hatred rules the heart.”

“You will release Glorfindel from whatever hold it is you have upon him,” Erestor demanded, “or else–”

“Or else what, you’ll kill me? What exactly are you killing, Erestor? Astarion’s soul is long gone. There’s nothing left inside here except memories that we control.”

“I’ll destroy this … vessel, as you call it, and then you’ll have no connection here. You’ve done enough damage.”

“I’ll admit to that. There is not much else we can do. Glorfindel despises you as it is. What do you think will happen when he finds out about you and the succulent ellon that still reeks on your flesh? Any hope you may have had is surely destroyed by now. And as for the ellon, well, it’s just a matter of time before he figures out that you only used him for your own satisfaction. You do not love him, and the one that you do love cannot stand you anymore. What is left for you, Librarian? Are you empty inside or can you still feel the remnants of the darkness upon your heart? We had control of you, if only for a short while, and in that time, we were in ecstasy by the wealth of your knowledge. Do not deny the fact that the visions you saw made you stiffen in your sleep. Power, wealth, an army to do anything you ask of them, revenge against a jilted lover, seems difficult to turn away from that. We can save you from the guilt that you feel now. You never would have pursued the ellon, had Glorfindel not tossed you aside. He seduced you from the very beginning, didn’t he? Has it ever been your decision to be with him?”

Erestor was taken aback. How could Astarion, or whatever it was that dwelled in his body, know anything about his and Glorfindel’s past?

Astarion saw the crease in Erestor’s confused brow and laughed. “Oh, we’ve been entertained by all the things within that gilded head of your mighty lover … ex-lover as it is now. Did you know that when he planned that hunting trip, all he wanted was to have a taste of you, and then he was going to toss you away? He never intended anything permanent between the two of you.”

“You lie!” Erestor shouted.

“I wish you could hear the hatred in your voice. It makes us want more from you,” Astarion said, closing his eyes and smiling. When they opened, they had cleared of the fog, turning blue once more.

“He has deceived us both,” said Astarion in a different voice, weaker, more desperate. Could this be partially the real Astarion? “Tell me, does he still control every situation? He used to be like that, but I thought it was because he was an army captain, and that’s just how he behaved. Then, he got to the point that he would not listen to any of my ideas, and here I was supposed to be his second in command. I told him we should not have taken the secret tunnels. The enemy was following too closely, and I feared we would be trapped, but he ignored me. Glorfindel always had to have things his way.”

Erestor listened to the voice of Astarion as he told more of that fateful night in Gondolin, and the similarities between Glorfindel then and now were uncanny. It was true that Fin always needed to have his way, and they had ended up in quite a few arguments because of his inability to bend.

“And so I listened to him and I followed him, and in the end it cost me everything. Then, when I needed him most, when the orcs captured me and dragged me away in the tunnel, Glorfindel turned from me and left me to die. But I didn’t die. I was kept alive, used, forced to do unimaginable things, raped of my soul, and my heart cut from my chest. That is only a fraction of what it has been like. I sacrificed myself so that Glorfindel might have lived, but in return, he was supposed to give me a mercy kill, not leave me to those barbarians. So tell me, Erestor, what has Glorfindel abandoned you for?”

“For you. You came back from the dead,” Erestor whispered.

“But I never really was dead,” Astarion said. “That was Glorfindel’s fate, after all. He slain the Balrog, sacrificing himself to save our people. So why was his soul spared by the Valar? Why was he allowed second life?”

Erestor shook his head and cocked it to the side as he looked into the ancient blue eyes before him. “Don’t you see? Glorfindel has always asked himself that very question. I don’t think he’s ever been completely himself since he came back from Mandos. The Valar brought him back but would not give him a reason, telling him that when the day came, he would know. So, as far as I see things, Glorfindel never really abandoned you. He always wondered, and the day we found you in the dungeons of Dol Guldur, I think he finally saw the reason. It was you all along, Astarion.”

“No,” Astarion whispered, and his voice turned dark. “No, no … no! You are not supposed to feel pity for him. Glorfindel used you. He told you he loved you when it was Astarion he loved all this time. He left you to fade from despair.”

Erestor was wise to what was happening, and he strengthened as the dark ones within Astarion began to show defeat. “This was you plan all along, to separate Glorfindel from me, to make me think he was choosing Astarion over me so that I would feel the effects of fading. And then you would step in and convince me to seek revenge and save myself from death, but instead, I would come to see the visions from the Seeing Stone turn to reality. But the one thing you didn’t count on was the fact that I might not fall into despair over the loss of my lover. I’ll not deny that I came close to wanting it all to end, but someone else pulled me back from the edge of that abyss. When all seemed lost, there was someone who loved me enough to guide me back. He was right. I never really was alone. He was always there for me, no matter what. Whether I’ll ever be able to mend my broken heart enough to return those feelings or not, I do not know, but I know I will not abandon him. If nothing else, he will always have my friendship. That is why I am still here. That is why I’ll not hand myself over to the darkness. He was strong enough for both of us, and it was he who cast your serpent-like grip from my heart.”

Erestor pulled his sword from its sheath, and then took a set of keys that hung on the wall across from the cell. “Now, it is time to end this. Astarion’s soul will finally be free from your grip. Imladris will not fall into enemy hands, and I’ll not be your bitch.” He unlocked the cell door and let it swing wide. Nothing stood between them any longer. Erestor brought his sword up, the light from the window flashing on its sharp edge. “Astarion, if you are in there still, if you can hear me, I am at your service, and I will give you what you asked of me within the dungeons. You deserve peace more than anyone else.” He brought his sword up in an arc and prepared to impale Astarion in the fashion that Glorfindel had taught him when they gave mercy to the elf prisoners they had found inside Dol Guldur. Just a downward motion straight into the heart, and Astarion would be free of the Nazgûl, free of the darkness, and free of Sauron. “Let this be a lesson to them. Peace be on your soul, Astarion.”

Astarion dropped to his knees, and his countenance turned to one of fear. His eyes turned to a light blue color, pitiful and weak as he looked pleadingly at Erestor’s raised weapon. “Please. Please don’t do this. I am better, I swear.”

“Your tricks do not work on me, beast,” Erestor answered, as he prepared to deliver the final blow.

“Erestor, no!” Glorfindel bellowed from behind.

Erestor turned his eyes to the side, surprised by Glorfindel’s entrance, but he did not look away from Astarion. “He has been deceiving you. This is not Astarion. It never has been. It is a spy for the Nazgûl … for Sauron. They mean to destroy us all, starting with Imladris.”

“Glorfindel, help me,” Astarion whimpered.

“Step out of the cell, Erestor, and leave him alone,” Glorfindel commanded calmly.

“No! This must end, and if you will not see to it, then I will!” Erestor raised the sword again, his vision tunneled on striking Astarion’s heart. The pitiful creature cowering on the ground covered his face with his hands. Just as Erestor was about to bring the blade down, he was slammed from behind and the sword was ripped from his hands. A heavy weight pinned him to the floor, and he angered quickly. Glorfindel had attacked him.

“Get off of me!” he cried out. Surprisingly, the weight lifted, but then he felt himself being hoisted up by the back of his robe. Once on his feet, he spun around and clenched his fist. He swung out before he’d focused on his intruder, and his punch was blocked. Glorfindel countered him and struck him in the gut. Erestor doubled over, but he recovered quickly. When he stood, he returned the punch striking Glorfindel at the base of his ribcage. It felt like punching a stone wall, as Glorfindel barely flinched. Erestor’s robes were gathered at the neck, and the elf lord made him straighten. The counselor decided that if it was a fight Fin wanted, then he would get it.

The gilded warrior’s arm drew back and his fist came forward, but Erestor managed to dodge it. In the split second it took Glorfindel to realize he’d missed, Erestor struck him in the jaw. A sharp pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder. Hitting Glorfindel was like fighting with a tree; he hardly budged and was barely affected. It was enough to distract him so that Erestor could get some distance between them and have a better chance at fighting, or at least evade any more strikes to his person. He wasn’t sure he could survive any more of Glorfindel’s hits without being seriously hurt or knocked unconscious. Fin was very strong, much stronger than Erestor had ever given him credit for. Of course, he’d never fought hand to hand combat with him before, and regretted his choice to do so. This was much too serious to walk away from, though, and if he had to battle Glorfindel to accomplish what he’d set out to do, then that’s what he would do.

Erestor saw his sword from the corner of his eye, but Glorfindel had seen him look. Astarion was closest to the blade, and Fin knew it. “Astarion, go!” the elf lord demanded.

Astarion cautiously picked up Aicalango, hiding behind Glorfindel for fear of Erestor coming at him. He was right to regard him with discretion. Erestor lunged towards the prisoner, but Glorfindel caught him and pushed him away.

“Are you mad?” Erestor yelled, confused and frustrated.

“There will be no blood shed,” Glorfindel said, and keeping an eye on the counselor, he called over his shoulder. “Astarion, leave now and–”

Glorfindel’s words ceased when the point of Aicalango was suddenly pushing dangerously against his back. “Astarion, what are you–”

“Silence!” Astarion directed with authority, no longer the weak fragile creature cowering on the floor. 

“Astarion, what are you doing?” said Glorfindel confused.

“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to turn the tables around here,” Astarion said. He was once again speaking like one of the Nazgûl in that sickeningly oily voice. “Erestor played right into my hands, and so have you.” He laughed then, and leaned into Glorfindel’s ear, the edge of the blade dangerously close to slicing his flesh. “The mighty Glorfindel. I think not. No. Glorfindel the foolish seems more appropriate. You were never going to save something that was beyond saving. We rule this body now. We rule his soul. And now we know all of your deepest secrets and your darkest fears.”

As Astarion spoke, Erestor tried to move into a better position where he might be able to take his enemy down, but Astarion was wise to this. He looked towards Erestor with malice. “Get to the back of the cell.”

Erestor could see this was not the time to try anything, and he did as he was told. He watched helplessly as Astarion backed out through the cell door, taking Glorfindel with him at knife point. He pushed the barred door closed with his foot. “Lock yourself in here, and then throw me the keys.”

This was not how Erestor imagined any of this playing out, but he had little choice than to do what Astarion told him. Suddenly, Glorfindel’s eyes were bearing down on him, not in anger or shock, but with a plan. The ancient blue eyes shifted towards Erestor’s boot, and then to the keys in his hand, and back to his face. Glorfindel had remembered that Erestor always kept a small knife in his boot, and he needed it if he wanted to get free of Astarion. The keys would have to do as the diversion in order to retrieve the knife from his shoe. Then he needed to slip it to Glorfindel before it was too late.

“Hurry, Librarian!” Astarion shouted.

Erestor walked towards the cell door and fumbled with the keys. He gave Glorfindel a steely glare, secretly announcing his move. Then he dropped the bundle of keys on the ground. He knelt down, making sure the end of his robes covered the boot with the hidden knife. While he was in this position, he spoke to Glorfindel.

“His eyes have turned white again. This is no longer Astarion that you are dealing with.”

“How observant of you,” Glorfindel answered, as though irritated, but it was part of their plan to make Astarion think they still loathed each other.

Astarion laughed in that deep oily voice, which they recognized as that of a Nazgûl. “Fools, the both of you, but especially you, Glorfindel. You only thought you were healing him, but we have always controlled his soul. We let it out when it is to our benefit, and then we cage it up before it is noticed. Did you really think you could bring Astarion back?”

“I thought I could find what was left of him, and help him find the strength to fight you and free himself,” Glorfindel admitted.

Meanwhile, Erestor stood straight again, and the knife was carefully palmed from sight. Now to make the exchange. Glorfindel watched Erestor’s hand slip through the bars, the bundle of keys in his hand. He concentrated, waiting for the only chance he would have to get the knife from Erestor.

“I know Astarion is still in there somewhere, and if you try to harm me, he will fight back for control,” Glorfindel warned.

But Astarion laughed cynically. “He has no power over us.” He brought the blade up to the side of Glorfindel’s neck. “And soon, I’ll have no use for you anymore, once your lover has locked himself safely away. The foggy eyes regarded Erestor again. “Hurry up.”

Erestor had the correct key in his hand and started to insert it into the keyhole. He lifted his eyes, gazing through his long lashes and winked as a signal. Then, everything happened in a flash. Glorfindel elbowed Astarion, and at the same time, took the knife from Erestor. He turned and jabbed the knife into Astarion’s side, making the prisoner stumble backwards and drop Aicalango. Erestor pushed the cell door open and started for his abandoned sword. Before he could grab it, he heard Glorfindel yell out in pain. Erestor looked up and found Astarion with his arm around Glorfindel’s neck in a choke hold. In his other hand he held the knife, which he must have pulled from his side, and placed the tip against Fin’s side. Erestor froze.

“Let him go,” Erestor said calmly. “You do not want him anyways. It is me that you have always been after.”

“You’re right, it is you that we are after, but you have not made this easy. There is one sure way to make you listen, though, and that is to get rid of the object of your desire.” Astarion whispered into Glorfindel’s ear. “It’s a shame, really. You would have been an excellent subject to further grow our armies. Astarion’s offspring was highly useful. I can only imagine that yours might have been nearly unstoppable. Oh how we would’ve loved to have control over your soul, but I’m afraid we won’t be needing you, once we have Erestor in our brethren.” Astarion dragged the edge of the knife’s blade across Glorfindel’s side, cutting him. Glorfindel cried out and struggle to get free, but his strength was no match to that of Astarion, now controlled by the Black Riders.

“No, please stop!” Erestor begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

“So you still have feelings for him after all. That makes a difference, Librarian. Maybe once you watch me slice his gut open and spill his insides onto the floor, your decision to join us will be easier. Glorfindel dies and you will fade, but you can turn you soul over to us instead. You’ll spend an eternity as a king instead of alone within Mandos Hall. Come with us and there will be no more pain, no more loneliness.” Astarion made another cut into Glorfindel’s torso.

“No, no, no! Enough, please. Don’t do this,” Erestor pleaded.

Astarion ignored him and tightened his arm around Glorfindel’s neck, choking the life from the elf lord. Glorfindel’s hands came up to the thin arm, his nails digging into the pale gray flesh as he tried to claw his way to freedom. Erestor raised his sword, but Astarion drove the knife half way into Glorfindel’s body, blood running down his side, turning his shirt red.

Suddenly, and out of nowhere, a figure hurled himself towards Astarion, wrapping his arms around the ruined elf’s waist and pulling him off of Glorfindel. The elf lord stumbled forward, falling to his knees, and Astarion wrestled with someone on the floor beyond. The smell of blood became stronger as there was grunting and cries of agony. They were in an area where the light did not touch the corridor, and Erestor could not see who fought with Astarion. Leaving them to their battle, Erestor ran to Glorfindel and helped him up, trying to get him away from the fighting elves. Meantime, the sounds of brawling diminished. Erestor could see that there was a lot of blood coming from Glorfindel’s side. Erestor helped Glorfindel to sit on the floor against the far wall. “You need a healer,” he said.

“I’ll be alright,” Glorfindel insisted. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Meanwhile, one of the two figures was moving towards them from the shadows. Erestor tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and stood in front of Glorfindel to protect him. Out of the darkness rushed Lastar. He had dirt and blood smeared on his face, and a cut that ran from his cheek to his jaw, but he looked well. He went to Erestor immediately and grabbed the counselor, checking him over. “Are you alright?” Lastar asked desperately.

“I thought I told you to go home,” Erestor said, but he gathered Lastar in his arms. “Thank the Valar you are alright.”

“Astarion is dead,” Lastar announced. “And Glorfindel?”

“He needs a healer. Will you help me–” Erestor stopped speaking when Lastar went rigid in his arms. “Lastar? What’s wrong? Lastar?” He released the younger elf from his hold and looked at his face. His eyes stared out beyond the walls of the prison house and his mouth hung agape. Then he lost his balance and fell in a heap to the floor. Erestor was about to kneel down next to him, but noticed Lastar’s own throwing knife protruding from his back. The counselor looked up and found Astarion standing in the shadows, a huge blood stain spreading across his stomach, turning his prison garb red. Lastar must have stabbed him, but Astarion was not dead. Instead, he removed the throwing knife and threw it across the room where it embedded into Lastar’s back. 

Every part of Erestor began to boil with hate and vengeance. He did not know if Lastar was alive or dead. It mattered not. All he wanted was to kill Astarion once and for all. Astarion came towards him, and Erestor moved to the side. The two elves circled each other in a slow articulate dance until Astarion was between Erestor and Glorfindel. The exit to the cells was at Erestor’s back, but he knew there was no chance that he would run off, not without Glorfindel and Lastar. Astarion turned sideways and eyed Glorfindel. He slumped against the wall, eyes closed. The stab wound hadn’t been that bad. Erestor glanced at Fin’s side and noticed that the knife was no longer protruding from his torso. Fin was only pretending to be weakened. He had a plan, and Erestor knew he needed to distract Astarion.

Astarion glanced over his shoulder, looking at Glorfindel’s slumping form. “He’ll not have long, I suppose, and then it will be just you and me. You’ll join us, and all of your knowledge will belong to us. We’ll know the secrets of every kingdom, every ruler, and vanquish each city one by one until there is no one left.”

“I will never join you,” Erestor said through gritted teeth. He focused all of his attention on Astarion.

“You say that now, but all the hate, all the grief you are feeling will become too much to bear. You’ll beg me for an escape before it is all said and done.” Astarion held Glorfindel’s sword, which must have been lost in the scuffle. He lifted it, and pointed it menacingly towards Erestor. “Ask it of me, Librarian, and I will give you a life of power. Imladris will be yours, filled with your own army that you can rule in any way you want.”

Erestor spit in Astarion’s face. “You will have to kill me, because there is nothing that will make me agree to join forces with you or any of your minions, especially Sauron. Go back to your rotted crypt, you bastard.”

Suddenly, there was Fin standing behind Astarion. “Good idea,” Glorfindel said calmly. The ruined elf spun around and Erestor caught a glimmer of silver where Glorfindel held the knife in his bloody hand. He grabbed Astarion’s arm and bent it behind his back, forcing him to release the sword. Erestor could hear bones cracking, and he knew Glorfindel had a strong grip on Astarion’s arm.

Like a switch had been turned on, Astarion’s eyes filled in with blue as the white dissipated. In the Nazgûl’s weakness, the real Astarion must have gained control over his soul. Erestor could only watch.

“Glorfindel, I’ve only a moment before they strengthen again. I’m afraid I’ll never come back after this, and they will rule my vessel forever, so listen to me. You have to kill me.”

No,” Glorfindel protested. “I can save you, Astarion. I know I can.”

“You already have. It’s because of you that I am here right now, but it is only temporary.” Astarion looked down at Glorfindel’s hand where he held the knife. He took the elf lord’s hand, placing the tip of the blade over his heart, and looked longingly into Glorfindel’s beautiful blue eyes. “It’s alright. I want you to do this. But before you do, know that I never blamed you for what happened in the secret tunnel. If I had just faced my feelings and realized who I really was, maybe none of this would have happened, but I buried my real urges and led my life through everyone else’s eyes. You were the only one I could be myself with. I do not regret any of it. I loved you, though I denied it constantly. If only I’d been honest with myself.”

“I’m sorry I did not give you what your eyes begged of me that day,” Glorfindel said, tears threatening his eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I was too weak in my heart, for I loved you, Astarion, and how does one mercifully kill the one he loves.”

“The Valar, they sent you back for a reason, but it was not for me. It was for yourself, Glorfindel, to set you free of your guilt, but I have been a burden on your soul. Well, I release you from my love so that you might give your whole being to another. There’s just one thing you must do now. Let me go. Please. Give me the honor of dying by your hand. Give me peace so that your heart and soul can be completely free to love.” Astarion’s hands covered Glorfindel’s, and wrapped around the handle of the knife.

Glorfindel held an arm around Astarion and leaned towards him. He kissed Astarion, and at the same time, he pushed the knife into his friend’s heart. The body convulsed and then went limp in Glorfindel’s arms. He pulled Astarion’s lifeless shape to his chest and kissed his forehead. “Sleep now. The nightmare is over.”

From the other side of the room, Lastar started choking and gurgling. Erestor started to go to him, but Glorfindel got to him first. He knelt down beside the young elf laying on the floor, and brushed the hair from his lovely face. Blood ran down from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was shallow, as if he fought for each breath. Glorfindel noticed the blood seeping out from beneath the elf. He was losing a lot. Fin looked up at Erestor, and slowly shook his head back and forth. The injuries were serious. Lastar was beyond any help.

Glorfindel looked back at Lastar. “You saved my life, Lastar. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I … didn’t … do it … for you,” Lastar struggled to say. “Treat him right. Love … him … completely. Take care of … him, as I wish … I could … have.”

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. Then he moved and motioned to Erestor for him to come to Lastar’s side. Glorfindel made his way over to the wall, and sat down, leaning his back against the cold stone. Everything had happened so fast, and he was just now comprehending all of it as he held his head in his hands.

Erestor got on his knees and sat next to Lastar. “Oh, my dear Lastar. You should not have come. You should be home. I should have taken you there myself.”

Lastar tried to laugh, but it came out as a sputter and more blood escaped his mouth. “You think … I would have listened? I … always said … I’d be there … for you … no matter what.”

Erestor picked up Lastar’s head and gently put it in his lap. “I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have returned your feelings.”

“No you don’t, because … it wasn’t meant to be. But … I do not … regret … loving you. You gave me … the greatest gift of all, a … small part … of your heart. And that … my sweet Erestor … is … enough to last for eternity.” Lastar’s eyes blinked, staying closed longer each time. His breathing slowed, and with his final breath, he smiled and said, “I … love … you.”

Lastar did not inhale again. 

“Oh, Lastar, no,” Erestor whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cupped the beautiful face. “I love you, too,” he said too late, and kissed Lastar’s forehead. Erestor held him in his arms and wept for the loss of such a special, brave soul. It was a tragic loss. Lastar gave his life not to save Erestor, but to save the only elf that he knew Erestor would ever love. It was truly the most selfless act anyone had ever performed, and Erestor would carry a part of Lastar in his heart forever.

After a while, Erestor left Lastar and rushed over to Glorfindel. He looked extremely weak. “I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

“Maybe a little worse than I led on.” Glorfindel took Erestor’s hand and smiled. “You have to go get help. Bring a healer.”

“I don’t want to leave you again, Fin,” Erestor pleaded. “If I come back and find that you are–”

“I’m not dying, Erestor, not yet and not anytime soon, now that I have you back in my life.” Glorfindel touched the tears on Erestor’s face. “I do have you again, don’t I?”

“You’ve always had me, you bastard,” Erestor said with mirth and tears. “Alright, I’ll go.” He kissed Glorfindel for the first time in months, and felt the strength in his lips. Glorfindel’s life force was still strong, but he could not help worrying. “I won’t be long.” His hand brushed against Fin’s cheek. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you, Erestor. Now go, please, and hurry.”


	17. Closure

It had been more than a week since that horrible day in the prison house, and Glorfindel was still in a healing sleep. Erestor stayed with him in the healing house while under the watchful eye of Lord Elrond. Today, Elrond stood with his sons, Elrohir and Elladan, watching the mighty elf lord sleep. Erestor sat in a chair opposite of them, next to the bed where he could keep a close eye on Glorfindel. It had been the first time the twin sons came to visit, and they looked worried.

“His injuries did not seem so serious that he should still be in a healing sleep,” Elrohir commented.

“Glorfindel is healing from more than the stab wound,” Erestor said somberly. “Some hurts are more difficult to heal, especially those that mark the soul.”

“And what about you?” Elladan asked. Erestor was closer to Elladan than Elrohir, though both were his friends. They seemed to be closer personality wise, and it was easy to talk to each other.

“I’ll not deny it’s been a difficult time,” Erestor replied as he reached for Glorfindel’s hand. “But I think I will recover.”

“Did the two of you make amends before all of this happened?” Lord Elrond asked.

“We only had a brief moment, but the few words we shared were enough. Glorfindel knows I will be here for him when he wakes. Perhaps that is why he is taking his time with this process.” Erestor paused and laughed to himself. “Just like Fin to keep me waiting.”

Elrond and the twins joined him in a quick laugh. Then, Elrond motioned for his sons to follow him out of the room and give Erestor time alone. Elladan gestured for them to go on, and that he wanted a moment with his very good friend.

“Don’t be long, son,” Elrond suggested.

“It’s alright,” Erestor said. “I could use the company.” Elrond nodded, and he and Elrohir left the room.

Elladan cocked his head and gestured that he and Erestor go out on the veranda where they could talk without disturbing Glorfindel’s sleep. Erestor nodded, and joined him for some fresh air. They stood at the railing, gazing out over the large herb garden in back of Elrond’s healing house. It was an unusually beautiful day. Long had it been since the days did not seem dreary with the gloom of grey clouds. Lately, everything was clearer and fresher. Life all around the valley was flourishing at a rapid rate it seemed.

“We sent Lastar’s things to his sister. She is his only family in Middle-earth. Their parents sailed years ago, and she lives in Lindon. I imagine she will sail soon, now that Lastar is … gone,” Elladan informed him.

Erestor continued staring out over the garden as he contemplated the information. “Funny, he never mentioned any family. I never asked him either. I always thought I knew Lastar well. Perhaps I didn’t know him as well as I thought.”

Elladan observed Erestor for a moment. Then he covered the counselor’s hand with his own. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Erestor smiled and nodded. “It is going to take some time, but this too shall pass.” He thought about what Elladan had just said, and brought his attention to his friend. “You said Lastar’s sister lives in Lindon?”

“Yes, near Harlond to be exact. Why?” Elladan wondered.

Erestor peered out over the landscape once more. “I think that I should like to visit her. It seems only right, since I was closest to Lastar. His family should know how much he accomplished.”

“I think that is a good idea, if it will help you in any way. I know you are still grieving for him, but what of Glorfindel?” Elladan asked.

“I’ll not leave before he awakens. I want mine to be the first face he sees when he opens his eyes.”

“Will you tell him?” Elladan inquired.

“About going to Lindon?” Erestor said, playing dumb.

Elladan turned to him, crossing his arms. “You know of what I speak.”

Since Elladan was Erestor’s closest friend and confidant he told him about going to the waterfall and the night he’d spent with Lastar. Erestor needed to talk to someone about it, for it was a part of his own healing. Elladan had helped him realize that what happened, happened, that it could not be erased, and that he’d done nothing wrong. It had been an emotional time, and Erestor should not blame himself for any of the events that occurred that night.

Erestor looked down at a flower pedal that lay at his feet. There was a bouquet of roses on a nearby table, placed there when Glorfindel was first brought to the healing house. They were just beginning to wilt, and Erestor was surprised no one had replenished them yet. In the house of Lord Elrond, nothing ever wilted, or at least, nothing was seen fading. But the elves of Imladris had lived their lives in solitude for many centuries. They had control over anything within their hidden valley. Everything was alive and vibrant. Anything showing signs of deterioration was removed or concealed. Elrond’s decision to allow Astarion into the city and hide him within the prison house was a good example of that. Now, the elves knew that it was no use to hide the withered things, for sometimes those things did not want to be kept secret. Avoiding the evil that thrived outside of their protected borders did not make them safe. If anything, it made them more vulnerable. Rivendell was a part of the world, and it had its part to play in the war, in the victory, and in the future of mankind. Elrond, more than anyone else, knew this, for his daughter would play a very important part in that future, and in return, she would become just as vulnerable as the vase of wilting roses.

Erestor, too, had avoided confrontations and conflicts for a very long time, but in recent days he had become open to moral attack, temptation, physical assault, and exposure from within. Yet, here he stood, still strong, still alive, still in love, but scarred. Scars were necessary, he decided. They were a reminder of how resilient he was, able to face the edge of an unforgivable cliff and eventually walk away from it with his pride still intact.

“Will I tell him about Lastar?” Erestor said, looking at the wrinkled pedal on the ground. “Well, if Glorfindel asks, then I shall not deny it. I will be honest, for that is all I ever expect in return.”

Elladan smiled. “That is good.”

* * *

Three more days passed and there had been no sign of Glorfindel waking from his healing sleep. His physical wounds were mostly healed except for scarring. The lacerations had closed up days ago. His breathing was normal, as was his heartbeat. There was really nothing keeping Glorfindel from waking, except for whatever his soul was healing from. Erestor knew how the ghosts of the mind could try to keep one trapped within oneself. He had had Elladan to help him break free. He wondered about Glorfindel, though, for it was him and him alone with his ghosts.

One of the maid servants had brought a bowl of water and a clean cloth, and sat it onto the side table. Erestor thanked her and watched her leave the room before he went to Glorfindel. It became his duty to make sure the elf lord received some kind of nourishment. Water sweetened with nectar was the best thing for him while he slept. Erestor dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, letting it soak up the sweet liquid, and then he would squeeze it onto Glorfindel’s lips. He would do this every few hours, making sure Fin got as much of the fortified drink into his system as was possible with an unconscious patient.

Erestor tucked the long gilded hair behind Glorfindel’s perfect ear. “Will you wake for me yet, my warrior? It has been days, weeks almost. Come back to me, Glorfindel. I miss you desperately.”

There was nothing, no movement, not even an eye flutter. He began to worry, afraid that something unseen had a hold of him. But that was not possible, was it? The Nazgûl had been destroyed, or so he had been told. He kissed Glorfindel’s forehead and sat back in his chair. “Shall I tell you I am sorry for not always being there for you? It is a lesson I have recently learned, that no matter what happens, I should be available to you, even when you push me away. I didn’t understand that before, and I abandoned you. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d only believed in you … believed in our love. But I was selfish. I didn’t understand that as much as I needed you all to myself, I couldn’t have you in that way. Others will need you from time to time, and I must let you go. I wish you were awake so you could hear me.”

“Erestor?” Glorfindel said in a raspy whisper.

Erestor stood from his chair and went to the bed as quickly as his feet would carry him. “I am here.” He took Glorfindel’s hand, finding his grip to be quite weak. “Wake for me. Come on, awaken.”

“Give me a moment,” Glorfindel said, squeezing his eyes tight against the light filtering in through the sheer curtains. “Where are we?”

“We are at home, in the healing house,” Erestor answered him, petting the side of his face and cupping his ear. “You are safe, but you have been asleep for more than a week. I was beginning to worry.”

“Have I been here this whole time?”

“Of course,” Erestor answered, confused. “You’d been injured, stabbed and cut. Lord Elrond has taken special care to see that you healed. You should have awakened days ago.”

“I was in a field of downy white dandelion heads. The sun was warm and bright, and when the wind blew, it scattered the pappus so that it looked like snow flurries.”

“Where was this?” Erestor asked.

“I … I was home. I was in Gondolin. This field was from my childhood. My mother would take me there and let me run and run until I couldn’t catch my breath. It was so peaceful there. I didn’t want to leave.”

“It was merely a dream,” Erestor informed.

“It was more than a dream. I was really there in the place of my birth.” Glorfindel fluttered his eyes, adjusting to the light, and when he could see he looked up into Erestor’s face. “Did I … die?”

“No, not that I know of, and I have been at your side every minute of every day. I would have noticed if you stopped breathing.”

“Then, they must have recreated this place so that I was somewhere familiar in a time that brought me never ending joy.” Glorfindel said.

“Who are ‘they’?” Erestor wondered.

“Why, the Valar, who else?” Glorfindel answered nonchalantly.

“The Valar?”

“Well, namely Nienna. She spoke to me about my life in Gondolin, and of the good deeds I did for the people there. It was she who was responsible for my re-embodiment. She said she was there when I entered the Halls of Waiting, and convinced her brother, Mandos, to send me back. I asked her why, and she said that anyone who could act with such selflessness as to cast himself upon certain death should not know such guilt and mourning. She asked her brother to send me back so that I could see what became of my actions. He was reluctant, but eventually he allowed it under the condition that I must heal from my grief without any help from her. Nienna argued that it was a cruel thing to do, but seeing that her brother would not be swayed, she agreed.”

“That must be the reason they did not answer you,” Erestor said. Glorfindel cocked his head questioningly, and Erestor explained. “You told me once, when you came back, that you were in such despair, you called upon the Valar for answers, but they remained silent.”

“You remember that?”

Erestor smiled. “I remember everything you ever told me.”

“You are right. Nienna swore not to interfere, and therefore she could do nothing to take away my sadness. Instead, I thought they abandoned me, and for a very long time, I despised them. I was a soldier, and without orders, without an agendum, I easily went off course. But I went on, and thanks to Olórin and the Maiar, I began to remember again. I made up my mind that the Valar intentionally sent me back to accomplish some mission, and figuring out that mystery was part of it.”

“So, you finally found out that your mission was to free Astarion as you could not do before you fell,” Erestor said, thinking he knew the answer to the riddle.

“I thought that too, but Nienna said there was never a mission. All these thousands of years of waiting and wondering, and there was no mission. It was me all along. My self-pity, my thoughts of being unworthy, my guilt over things that were out of my control, these were the things I had to learn the truth about, for Nienna said my feelings were so strong, she felt she could not carry them into her province. She is the Queen of grief and mourning, and she weeps for the suffering of Arda, but mine was almost a match to her own, and it was too much to bear. Instead, my return to earth became a lesson in pity and endurance through grief.”

“And what did Nienna say? Did you pass your test?” Erestor asked.

“She said, I surpassed her teachings, and–” Glorfindel paused and closed his eyes.

Erestor waited for him to continue, but he remained silent. “And what, Glorfindel?”

“And . . .” he sighed deeply. “And I can return home.”

Erestor thought by home, he meant Rivendell, but the faraway look in his eyes said differently. Glorfindel saw the hope on Erestor’s face and continued. “Not this home. Valinor. She said I could come back to the Blessed Realm, my real home.”

Erestor’s breath caught in his throat. Glorfindel was saying that he would sail and his heart, which was only minimally healed, began to break again. But he put up his wall of defense and pretended that it did not affect him. “Well, you know what they say. Once an elf hears the call, he becomes restless and longs for the sea. You should not ignore it, especially after your encounter with Nienna.”

Glorfindel sat up, anchoring himself with his elbows, and gave Erestor a stern look. “Are you sending me away?”

“No, but you just said you were ready to sail.”

“That is not what I said,” Glorfindel replied, irritated. “Were you not listening to me? It was Nienna who said I may return.”

“And I can hear it in your voice, Glorfindel. You want to go and I’ll not stop you, but I cannot go with you, if that is what you are asking.”

“I am not asking you to go. For Eru’s sake, Erestor, why must you always jump to conclusions? I don’t want to go either.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Glorfindel said. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you, and I know you are not ready to sail.” He laid back down in the bed and watched the shadows dancing on the ceiling. There must have been a breeze moving the tree limbs, he thought, and longed to stand in the wind to let it blow through his long unbound hair. Glorfindel sighed, knowing Lord Elrond would not allow him out of the healing house, let alone out of bed, for a few days yet. Perhaps the weather would stay as it was and wait for him. He blinked slowly and turned his eyes towards Erestor. “We have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” Erestor asked dryly.

“We always assume what the other one is thinking, and when we speak, we only hear what our thoughts have predetermined.”

Erestor smiled down at him. “Some habits are hard to break.” He bent down, and his hand cupped the elf lord’s face. “The fact is, we know each other too well. I listened to you, and I know what you spoke aloud, but I read your face and know your true thoughts. Your eyes speak for your soul, Glorfindel, and I saw something there. Tell me you did not consider sailing and I’ll say I am wrong about this.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes, feeling vulnerable under Erestor’s gaze, but it was too late. Erestor was right and Fin nodded before he spoke. “I … did. I’m sorry, but it crossed my mind the entire length of Nienna’s visit. Her eyes were mournful, but her voice was full of peace as she said the name of the Blessed Realm, and I found myself longing to go back.” He reached out and took Erestor’s hand, looking deep within the counselor’s hazel eyes. “I could not sail without you, least death take you first. I am bound to you, Erestor, and though our trust and our faith in each other has been put to the most extreme tests, I have always felt assured of our bond.”

Hard as he tried, Erestor could not hide the flash of guilt in his eyes, and Glorfindel saw it before he could blink it away. “Do you not feel the same?”

“Of course I do,” Erestor answered quickly and with a bit more defensiveness than he would have liked.

“Then what is this?” Glorfindel asked as his hand came up and touched the side of Erestor’s face.

Erestor took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the roughened knuckles. The counselor knew what had escaped the wall he’d built, sparing Glorfindel from knowing about anything that happened during their separation. He swore he would tell Fin if he asked, but he was not asking anything specific at the moment. Instead, he decided to tell the elf lord about Lastar’s sister.

“I found something that belonged to Lastar within my office. It is a journal, filled with poems and short stories that he must have written over the years. I suppose he forgot about it when he removed his things from my office. Elladan said his other belongings have already been sent to his sister in Lindon. I think it is only right that she have this too, for one’s writings are a part of their soul, and she is his only family. I am going there to deliver it in person, and visit Lastar’s sister. I feel I need to meet her, and share his accomplishments with her. Call it closure, it’s just something I have to do.”

Glorfindel nodded in compliance. “Alright, but give me a day or two and I’ll go with you.”

“I think I need to do this alone, Fin. And besides, you will not be ready to go anywhere for a while. Lord Elrond has given strict instructions that once you wake, you are not to–”

“Lord Elrond over-exaggerates things,” Glorfindel interrupted. “I just need to get up, get my legs moving, breathe in the fresh air, and I’ll be good as new.”

“No, what you need to do is stay here, recover completely, and let Lord Elrond fill you in on all that has happened since you were asleep.”

“What do mean?”

Erestor smiled down at his lover. “The war is over. Sauron has been destroyed along with the Nazgûl and most of his armies. You’ll remember the Hobbit, Frodo?” Glorfindel nodded and Erestor continued. “He finished his quest and destroyed the Ring. As a matter of fact, he is here, in Rivendell, in the other wing of the healing house. Gandalf brought him here so that he could recover under the watchful eye of Lord Elrond. He’s been quite busy lately, dividing his time between you and the Hobbit, and a bit stretched. I’d not confront him if I were you,” Erestor chortled.

Glorfindel sat up on his elbows again, a look of disbelief on his countenance. “The war? It’s over?”

“There is nothing left of Mordor. Everything collapsed and was swallowed by the earth. The Nazgûl, who were patrolling their wretched land at the time, were said to have been taken down by flaming boulders spit out of the mouth of Mount Doom as it exploded.”

“And the Witch-king?” Fin asked.

“Ah, now that is an interesting story. He’s dead, of course. Well, I suppose he was already dead, but you know what I mean. And you were right.” Erestor said proudly.

“Right about what?”

“Not by the hand of man was he slain. Your prophesy, Glorfindel. Not Man, nor elf or dwarf could bring him down. It was a woman, the niece of the King of Rohan, to be precise. Lady Eowyn met her foe in battle on the field of Pelennor, where she thrust her sword into his empty helm. I’m told that there was nothing left but the black cloak and armor that he wore.”

Glorfindel was stunned. He’d never imagined that it would be a woman who finally destroyed the ancient King of Angmar. “They’re all gone? They’re all destroyed … the Nazgûl?”

“They’ll never harm us again, my love. We are free of their black thoughts.”

“When did this happen?” Glorfindel asked, sitting up fully and wincing from the lack of muscle use.

Erestor was reluctant to tell him, for the timing could have a great impact upon him. But it was too late. Glorfindel already read the hesitation in Erestor’s eyes. “Tell me,” the elf lord demanded.

“It had already begun the day we were at the prison house. First, Minas Tirith was attacked. Men from Rohan gathered and fought upon Pelennor Field. When the battle was over, a group of soldiers, led by Aragorn, marched to the Black Gates and confronted Sauron. By then, Frodo must have been close to his final destination. The confrontation was a diversion to allow the Hobbit passageway without being noticed.”

The crease between Glorfindel’s eyes deepened as he thought back to that day at the prison house. “I knew I’d felt a shift when Astarion broke free of the Nazgûl’s control. Something preoccupied them, leaving Astarion unguarded. If what you say is true, they might never have returned to take possession of him again. He might have been free, and I … I–”

“Now, don’t start to think like that,” Erestor said with a stern tongue. Then to himself he added, “I knew I should not have mentioned this yet.”

“But if the Nazgûl were destroyed then perhaps Astarion could have been saved and–”

“You could not have known that. Astarion could not have known that either. Listen to me, Glorfindel, you did what he wanted you to do. You gave him freedom, and there could have been no other way. Even with the Nazgûl destroyed, he could never have lived a free life. I know this to be the truth.” Erestor sat on the edge of the bed and spoke over his shoulder. “I know now that no one else could have released Astarion but you. It just had to be that way. I wish I could have taken the burden for you. Believe me, I hate to think of how it will affect you, but this was yours to do alone.”

“Ai, I know that too. I had only hoped that I could give him a second chance.”

“You did that already,” Erestor spoke softly.

“Astarion told me the same thing, and what’s done is done.” Glorfindel stretched back out on his bed, and his hand came to rest on Erestor’s thigh. “I’m sorry, Erestor. I’m sorry for all that I put you through. I’m sorry that I turned you away, and that I made you think that I chose Astarion over you. I knew it was not right, but I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t in control. I hurt you, and I beg you to forgive me.”

“How could I not forgive you?” Erestor said. “Even when I tried to turn away from you and never come back, I couldn’t. You’re inside my head, my mind, in my heart and soul. To not forgive you would be to stop living.”

“Sometimes I think that I don’t deserve you,” Glorfindel whispered.

A flashing memory of Lastar thrown against the wall of the alcove, Erestor’s body pushing against him, made Erestor think that maybe Fin didn’t deserve him. But then he crushed the thought and buried it again. “We both made mistakes that we must face, Glorfindel, but we will face them together and be stronger for it.”

“What about you, Erestor? Are you free of that abomination or has the Witch-king left a scar upon your soul also?”

Erestor moved to face Glorfindel, and leaned towards him until they were face to face. “You may have set Astarion free with your blade, but you have given me peace with your love. I don’t think I shall ever be haunted by dark thoughts again.”

Glorfindel searched Erestor’s eyes and cupped the back of his head, drawing him in for a kiss. Before their lips touched, Glorfindel smiled and it reminded Erestor of how irresistible the elf lord could be.

“Mine,” Glorfindel whispered.

“Always,” Erestor answered.

* * *

The journey to Lindon was long but uneventful. Erestor was glad to finally be back in civilization, after spending many nights on the road or dodging bedbugs in run down inns along the way. Harlond was an elf-haven, and the southern harbor of the Grey Havens. Some of the elves made Harlond their home, while waiting for a ship to carry them to the Blessed Realm, or just to be closer to the sea as they awaited their calling to sail. The fact that Lastar’s sister lived here meant that she must be readying herself for the last journey of the elves, and Erestor wondered what kept her here, since their parents had sailed some years before.

She lived on the top floor of a beautiful seaside apartment, which overlooked the magnificent Gulf of Lhún. He might have envied her accommodations, had he not preferred the rich green valley of Imladris instead. Still, he could imagine him and Glorfindel living in a place like this, but only when their time had come to sail into the west.

Erestor had sent correspondence, therefore, Naina was expecting the counselor, and she welcomed him with open arms when he finally arrived. She shared some of the same physical traits with her brother, mainly their long silky black hair and the roundness of their eyes. She was a very lovely elleth, and Erestor wondered why she never married.

As Naina showed him her home, Erestor noticed a stack of small crates in the corner of one room. Naina saw this and smiled. “There is no point in unpacking any of it since I will be leaving soon. Please tell Lord Elrond that I am very thankful to have Lastar’s things. My parents will be glad to have a part of him, too.”

“Well, that kind of leads me to the reason for my visit. I found something of Lastar’s in my office, something that was overlooked by the time his things had been sent here.” Erestor pulled the small book from his robes. It was bound in rich brown leather with a golden inlayed vining pattern on the cover. He handed it to her and explained. “It is filled with poems and stories that he wrote, the beautifully written work of an accomplished scribe. Lastar was talented, a quick learner, and very good at his job. I was proud to have him as my apprentice.”

Naina thumbed through the book quickly, smiling as she caught a sentence here and there. “Memories of our childhood. He was such a happy elfling, and so very motivated. Nothing would stop Lastar once he set his mind to it.”

“He certainly was,” Erestor said, remembering some of their times together.

Naina led him to her sitting room, where she had prepared a lovely fruit and flower tea. They settled into their seats and spoke fondly of Lastar. “I remember how excited I was for him when he wrote me about becoming your apprentice. He’d said he would learn from the best, and in Lastar’s eyes there was no one else but the Master of Imladris’ Libraries.”

Erestor sipped his tea and set the cup on the wide arm of his chair, which doubled as a small side table. The chair was covered in a beautiful pale pink jacquard design, and matched the one Naina sat in. The apartment was decorated in simple hues of pink and flesh tones. There were not a lot of mementos displayed, probably because she must be ready to leave whenever the next ship was announced to arrive.

“Having Lastar to come work for me was always such a joy,” Erestor smiled.

Naina held the book in her lap, and as they continued casual conversation, she skimmed through the pages, as though she was looking for something in particular. She stopped at one page and covered it with her hand, closing her eyes as she did. “Erestor, did you know much about Lastar’s life outside of the library?”

The question was a little off-putting, but he smiled as he answered. “Perhaps a little. Why do you ask?”

She opened her eyes, but kept them turned down on the book. “In his letters, he spoke regularly about his work and his accomplishments. He also spoke of someone he said he’d fallen for, but he did not know if the other person returned the same feelings.”

Erestor felt his insides shrivel. Did Naina know this other person Lastar spoke of was him? He regained internal control before it showed outwards through his facial expressions. “I had known Lastar to accompany an ellon or two for dinner and an evening of musical entertainment.” She shifted in her chair at the mention of this and Erestor wondered if he’d already said too much. “Oh, you … did know of your brother’s preferences, didn’t you?”

Naina gave a genuine smile. “Yes, of course. It was never a secret. Lastar lived life to its fullest. He would never hide something like that. Which is why I am confused about this ellon he held such admiration for. He never gave me a name, but he told me how his feelings grew quickly. I worried for him. It is not easy to love someone who does not return the same feelings. Over the past few months, he seemed to become almost obsessed. In my last letter, I asked him to reconsider sailing with me, you know, to save his heart from being broken. I didn’t know if this was someone he had already had a relationship with or not, and I feared for his fading, if things became too serious. In his last letter to me, he said there was one thing he had left to do, and if it did not work out, then he would join me on the next ship. I think he meant to finally confront this elf and open his heart to him. And if he was refused, then he was going to come to Lindon, and we would sail together.”

“Is that why you have not left yet?” Erestor asked, feeling rather uncomfortable.

“I would have left a while ago if it weren’t for Lastar. I know he was young and still hadn’t heard the calling, but I didn’t want to leave without him, and he not knowing what his future held. He was so madly in love, and if this person turned him away, then I knew I must be there for my brother.”

Knowing all of this made Erestor’s heart sink. He’d no idea that Lastar might have told someone else about his infatuation. As far as Erestor knew, only Lastar, Glorfindel and himself knew of it. Why hadn’t he ever thought that Lastar might have said something to his family? Then again, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing one mentioned. And what should he do now? Naina was asking for any additional information Erestor might have that would put her mind to rest, and here he was, the elf in question. He couldn’t lie to her, yet he could not admit that he was the one Lastar spoke of. He took a deep breath and started the delicate conversation.

“I did know Lastar had feeling for someone, and to protect the other party, I will not mention any names. But I will tell you this. He loved Lastar as a friend, and Lastar knew this. He would have laid down his life for you brother. He would have helped him in any way possible, and sometimes he did. They were friends foremost, and neither one wanted to do anything that would destroy that close relationship. But, your brother did not deserve him, for he could not return the deep feelings Lastar held for him. This ellon’s heart was already spoken for, and we both know nothing can change something like that. In the end, Lastar still managed to steal a small part of the other elf’s heart, and he mourns the loss of a good friend. Lastar was loved, you can be assured of this. He is greatly missed, and he will never be forgotten. In the end, I believe he was happy, and I am sure that his soul rests peacefully within the Halls of Waiting.”

“You were with him when he passed, weren’t you? That is what I was told anyways,” Naina said, the conversation remaining a difficult one.

“I … was,” answered Erestor, his mouth suddenly dry.

Naina sat in silence for a long while. Then, she closed the book and let her finger travel over the gilded design, as though pondering something. Finally, she handed the book to Erestor. He cocked his head with a lack of understanding, but she just smiled and nodded.

“Take this with you back to Rivendell, and give it to him. He should have something of Lastar’s to remind him of my brother, something solid, not just memories. Tell him to carefully read the last poem. I think he will see himself in the words.” Naina leaned forward in her chair and reached out to take Erestor’s hands. He mirrored her actions and she grasped his fingers. “I am sorry if you came all this way for nothing.”

Erestor smiled and squeezed her hands. “It was not for nothing, Naina. I am very glad to have met you. I can’t help feeling a little closer to Lastar by meeting you.”

They had spent most of the day in each other’s company, Naina telling Erestor stories about Lastar in his youth, and Erestor telling her about Lastar’s time as his apprentice. Eventually, the light began to fade as the sun began to set. Neither one realized how late it had become. She offered to make him a light supper and put him in the spare bedroom to sleep for the night, but Erestor refused, saying that he’d already made arrangements elsewhere. When it was time to leave, Erestor made his farewells, knowing he would not see her again. Naina walked him to the door, and thanked him once more for all that he’d done. Erestor nodded, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. He opened the door and proceeded to leave when she stopped him.

“Erestor,” she called.

“Yes?”

“He would have deserved you, had it been any different.”

Erestor was motionless as her words sunk in. How had she figured out it was him? Had she always known? Should he explain himself?

“I knew my brother well, and you are exactly the kind of soul he always wished for. If nothing else, I am glad you had your friendship.”

At a loss for words, Erestor bowed low, taking his time to stand straight. “Thank you.” It was all he knew to say, and it had been enough. Erestor finally had his closure, and he knew he could comfortably keep a small part of Lastar within his heart.

* * *

It had been a while since then. Glorfindel and Erestor mended their wounds, both physically and mentally. Most of their healing came from just being together again. It hadn’t been easy, and it was a long time before they were able to get back to the way they used to be. They were finally comfortable in each other’s company, as well as in their own skin. The nightmares lessened, and the ghosts slowly faded. Not all of the memories had gone, but the ones that remained were good, and they could talk about it more freely than before.

Erestor still had his large home with the veranda overlooking the valley, and Glorfindel still had his smaller apartment down by the training grounds, but Fin spent most of his time at Erestor’s home. That hadn’t changed, and Erestor would have it no other way.

The morning came upon Erestor quickly, it seemed, or perhaps it was because he and Glorfindel had been up most of the night, reconnecting through their bond. These were the best of times, Erestor thought to himself, and he hoped it would never end. He also hoped to find Glorfindel’s warm body next to his as he awoke, but that half of the bed was empty. His ears perked up and he heard the light scratching of charcoal on parchment.

“Are you sketching my arse again?” Erestor called from the bed.

“No,” Glorfindel answered, the sounds of someone drawing never breaking pace. “Something much better.”

“That better not mean what I think it does,” Erestor berated.

Glorfindel gave an airy laugh through his nose. “Relax, Counselor, I’ll be the only one seeing your cock, and no matter how beautiful of a thing it is, I would not share that knowledge with the world. Now just lie still and let me finish.”

Erestor laughed naughtily. “I seem to remember you saying that same exact thing last night.”

“You are a beast today, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you come over here and tame me then,” said Erestor, surprising Glorfindel.

“You keep talking like that, and I just might. Now stop moving. I’m almost done.”

Erestor did as he was told, and stayed in bed, laying on his stomach with his head turned towards Glorfindel. He loved to watch his gilded lover when he was deep in concentration. Glorfindel’s brows creased together and his lips pouted when he was focused. It made his jaw jet forward, the lines becoming straight and chiseled. His cheeks sucked in slightly and his high cheek bones became more prominent. He was absolutely irresistible in this form, and Erestor was already plotting how to get Fin back into his bed.

“Don’t you think it is time that one of us made the decision to give up his home and move in with the other?” Glorfindel asked out of thin air.

“And that ‘one’,” Erestor said emphasizing the word, “would definitely have to be you.”

“And what is wrong with my home?” Glorfindel said offended.

“Surely you can’t expect me to give this up,” Erestor protested. “It has one of the best views on this side of the city.”

“We’ll save this discussion for another day,” Glorfindel said, sounding defeated. He stood, picking up the sketch, and came back to the bed. Then he threw himself onto the empty side. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Erestor did as he was told, and rolled onto his back.

“No peeking,” Glorfindel warned.

Erestor sat up on his elbow, squeezing his eyes shut. “I swear, if this is some vulgar drawing of me–”

“It’s not, trust me. Now, open.”

Erestor opened his eyes and was utterly amazed by the picture he saw. It was a portrait of him gazing over the distance, looking perplexed while his eyes shined with desire for something unattainable, but hopeful at the same time. His lips were parted slightly, as though his breath had caught. He seemed caught off guard by something. It was such a solid moment in time that Erestor wondered how and when Glorfindel had ever seen him like this.

“It’s absolutely amazing, Glorfindel,” he said enthusiastically. “But how did you do it?” In the past, Glorfindel always used Erestor as a model, sleeping or working at his desk, times when the counselor would be in one position long enough for Glorfindel to make a sketch.

Glorfindel leaned to him and kissed his cheek. “It is burned into my memory. This was how you looked at me the very first time our eyes connected, before we ever spoke to each other, before we officially met. Do you remember?”

“I remember well,” Erestor smiled. “You had just returned to Rivendell after a very long absence. The elves all crowded around the courtyard to welcome their mighty elf lord back home.” He stopped and huffed a laugh. “Not but a few maidens swooned that day, or ellyn for that matter.”

“Not you, of course,” Glorfindel noted.

“I was no maiden,” Erestor jested.

“You stood away from the crowd, at the top of the stairs that led to the libraries. You seemed to not want to be bothered by the gaiety of the moment, as if the whole affair was outright ridiculous.”

“I never was one for such celebrations,” Erestor admitted. “Too much to do and all.”

“But you stayed anyways,” Glorfindel said.

“Well, anyone with a pulse could not help but watch the golden elf lord of Gondolin come back to the place he called home. You shined like the brightest star in the night sky, with your long flowing gilded waves whipping in the wind, sitting upon your snowy white steed, and Maicaril glittering at your side as though it had never been soiled by blood. You were beauty and strength, confident to the point of arrogance.”

“Is that what you thought of me?” Glorfindel injected.

“I thought you needed a lesson in modesty,” Erestor smiled slyly. “But I know now that was not the real you who rode in that day. You put on your game face disturbingly easy.”

“But never for you, Meldanya,” Glorfindel needed to add.

“I know that now. I know it very well,” Erestor answered to ease his mind. He returned the kiss, but deepened it with more need.

Glorfindel let the paper fall from his hand, as he pushed Erestor easily into the pillows. He untied the satin belt and let his rob fall from his shoulders. Then he moved his body to cover Erestor. He looked far beyond the depths of Erestor’s eyes, to the very soul that was entrusted to him for safe keeping.

“Mine,” Glorfindel whispered.

Erestor couldn’t help notice how differently he said this now than before. Fin used to say it with possession, but now he sounded as if he needed permission. Things had definitely changed between them. Their relationship was never so solid. They’d been tested time and time again, and each challenged resulted with a stronger bond between them. Nothing, not the past, not the future, could tear them apart. Erestor buried his guilt so deep, as to never recall it again. Besides, Lastar was gone. There was no reason to ever have to tell Glorfindel what happened that night behind the waterfall. Whatever else was thrown at them, they would make it through together. Erestor belonged solely to Glorfindel, and Fin to him … equally. Soldier and scribe. Warrior and counselor. They were inseparable. Their love was their strength.

Erestor smiled up into the beautiful face before him, and relished in the feel of their flesh as they joined. The bond had been made a long time ago, but each time felt like the first. This time though, it felt complete. It was comfort. It was home. It was . . .

“Mine,” Erestor finally answered in return, taking possession of his glorious lover.

“Always,” Glorfindel answered. “And for all eternity.”

**The End**


End file.
